THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

Music  Library 
GIFT  OF' 

Professor 
Albert  Elkus 


LOUIS  C.  ELSON. 


EDROPEAN   REMINISCENCE 


MUSICAL  AND  OTHERWISE. 


Being  the  Recollections  of  the  Vacation  Tours  of  a 
Musician  in  various  Countries. 


By  LOUIS   C.  ELSON. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

THEO.    PRESSER. 


PREFACE. 


This  book  is  the  informal  record  of  several  vacations  of  a  musician 
abroad.  During-  some  years  the  author  was  correspondent  of  the 
New  York  Tribune,  the  Boston  Advertiser,  the  Boston  Transcript, 
and  other  journals,  and  the  following  pages  are  largely  collated 
from  his  foreign  letters  sent  to  the  American  press.  Naturally 
the  chief  interest  is  a  musical  one,  but  it  was  the  delight  of  the 
writer  to  study  the  kaleidoscopic  phases  of  European  life  in  many 
different  aspects,  and  the  result  was  at  times  to  take  him  very  far 
from  the  musical  field.  He  trusts  that  these  discursions  will  not 
detract  from  the  interest  of  a  book  which  is  only  intended  to  rep- 
resent the  playful  side  of  a  musician-' s  life.  This  also  will  excuse 
the  autobiographical  ego  which  is  used  in  these  pages  so  freely  by 

The  Author. 


Music  Library 
GIFT 


COPYRIGHT,  1891,  BY  LOUIS  C.  ELSON. 
COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY  THEO.  PRESSER. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  voyage — outward  bound — musical  and  gas- 
tronomical  doings  on  shipboard.         ...  5 

CHAPTER  II. 

A    CHANNEL    PASSAGE COLOGNE GUIDES CHURCH 

OF    ST.    URSULA AN    INTERVIEW   WITH    DR.    FERDINAND 

HILLER A    MUSICAL    FESTIVAL.  -  -  -  -  12 

CHAPTER  HI. 

LEIPSIC SKETCH  OF  THE  CONSERVATORY INTERVIEW 

WITH    JADASSOHN EVENING    WITH    REINECKE A   GER- 

MAR    KNEIPE.  -------20 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Northward  to  kiel — the  north  sea  and  Baltic 
copenhagen gade  and  the  danish  state  conser- 
vatory  an  interview  with  svendsen music  at  the 

tivoli a    convivial    artists'   gathering schar- 

wenka,  dahl  and  others a  dangerous  bath un- 
expected friends.         -                            -         -         -         35 


625 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   V. 

TO    CHRISTIANIA A    NORWEGIAN    MEAL A   VISIT   TO 

THE    MINISTER    OF    STATE A    SONG    OF     THE    NORTH A 

HALLING A    WILD    EXPRESS    TRAIN.  50 

CHAPTER   VI. 

TO  SWEDEN STOCKHOLM SUMMER  MUSIC  IN  THE  FAR 

NORTH THE   JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD A   CANAL   VOYAGE 

A   BOY    ORCHESTRA A    PROUD    PORTER.  -  -  5& 

CHAPTER   VII. 

BAYREUTH A  SLEEPY  GERMAN  TOWN  BEFORE  THE  FES- 
TIVAL  A  VISIT  TO  MADAM  WAGNER THE  FIRST  PER- 
FORMANCES   OF   THE  FESTIVAL PARSIFAL DIE  MEISTER- 

SINGER AN     EVENING     AT     ANGERMANN's MIDNIGHT 

REVELRIES A    MEETING    WITH    THE    PRINCE    OF    HESSE 

A   RECEPTION   AT   MADAM    WAGNER'S.  73 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Some  features  of  bayreuth^-the  trip  to  Munich 

franz  lachner — nuremberg rheinberger wag- 

ner's  first  opera,  "the  fairies."  93 

CHAPTER    IX. 

TO  VIENNA THE  PRATER SOME  GYPSY  MUSIC BUDA- 

PESTH THE    HOME    OF    THE    GIPSIES HUNGARIAN    MUSIC 

AND    MANNERS. 106 

CHAPTER   X. 

ADELSBERG FLORENCE VENICE A    CONCERT   TWO 

MILES    LONO THE    RECEPTION    OF  THE  QUEEN MUSIC  ON 

THE    GRAND    CANAL ROME NAPLES POMPEII.  -  120 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER    XI. 

CASAMICCIOLA A    TERRIFIC   EARTHQUAKE SCENES  IN 

A   DEVASTATED    COUNTRY THE    DEATH    OF    AN    ENGLISH 

PIANIST THE   FATAL    TERMINATION    OF    A    CONCERT A 

LIFE  SAVED  BY  CHOPIN'S  FUNERAL  MARCH — PISA MILAN 

LAKE    COMO AN   IMPROMFTU    MUSICALE.  -  -  142 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Switzerland  —  the   great   organ    at   luzerne  — 

zither  music  in  the  alps climbing  the  chapeau  bas 

the  romantic  mule a  ride  beset  with  dangers 

up  the  righi a  musical  acquaintance zurich 

chamounix geneva schaffhausen.  -         -       156 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

Paris — a  Turkish  bath — a  suave  barber — twenty- 
four  HOURS    OF   TYPICAL   PARISIAN    LIFE A   NIGHT   IN 

PARIS A     COMMUNIST     GUIDE A    FEARFUL    RIOT A 

CHARGE    OF    THE    FRENCH    SOLDIERY LOUISE    MICHEL 

INTERVIEWS    WITH    FRENCH    COMMUNISTS.  -  -  181 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    GREAT    EXPOSITION    AT  PARIS A  MUSICAL  DAY — 

AN    ALGERIAN    CONCERT INTERVIEW   WITH    MASSENET 

UNEXPECTED    JURY    DUTY A    NIGHT  AT  THE  OPERA  WITH 

MASSENET THE    GRAND    OPERA SYBIL   SANDERSON    AND 

EMMA    EAMES ART    IN    PARIS AN    ANNAMITE    CONCERT.     208 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Brussels — a  female  in  a  smoking  car — Amster- 
dam  THE   JEWISH    QUARTER   ON    FRIDAY    NIGHT SCHE- 

VENINGEN A    STORMY    PASSAGE    ACROSS  THE  CHANNEL 

LONDON — QUARITCH'S  BOOK  STORE ARISTOCRATIC  CLUBS 

AND    POVERTY-STRICKEN    SLUMS A    RIOT   IN    TRAFALGAR 

SQUARE LIFE    IN   THE    ENGLISH  METROPOLIS.       -  -  232 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  DISCURSIVE  TALK MUSICAL  EUROPE A  DESCRIP- 
TION OF  THE  MUSICAL  ADVANTAGES  AND  DISADVAN- 
TAGES   OF    DIFFERENT    EUROPEAN  CAPITALS WHERE  THE 

AMERICAN    STUDENT   OUGHT   TO  GO IMPORTANT  MUSICAL 

LETTERS   BY    ROBERT    FRANZ.  -  -  -  -  250 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

The  routine  of  European  travel — useful  hints  as 

to  costume preventives  of  seasickness passports 

^-strassburg  regulations languages— customs  of- 
ficers  tips. 271 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Departure   from   london  —  a   funereal   cabby — 

scotland edinburgh  and  glasgow abbotsford 

liverpool homeward  bound a  typical   steamer 

concert the  humors  of  an  ocean  voyage steer- 
age life home  again.          -----      283 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE   VOYAGE.     OUTWARD    BOUND. 

MUSICAL    AND    GASTRONOMICAL    DOINGS    ON    SHIPBOARD. 

Beethoven  once  composed  a  comic  song  I     It  was  called 
"  Urian's  Reise  um  die  Welt,"  and  began  : 

Whene'er  a  man  abroad  doth  go 

Great  problems  he'll  unravel, 
I  took  my  pack  and  was  not  slow 

To  go  about  my  travel. 

I  shall  follow  the  example  of  Beethoven's  Urian  and  caper 
about  Europe  in  a  playful  manner,  studying  people  rather 
than  palaces,  and  abjuring  in  advance  all  statistics  and 
guide-book  information. 

There  are  two  especially  thrilling  points  in  the  sea  voyage 
— the  moment  of  leaving  land  and  the  moment  of  sighting 
it.  Between  these,  as  between  the  covers  of  a  railroad 
sandwich,  there  is  much  that  is  tn^ing  to  the  soul,  and  much 
that  cannot  be  described.  Why  is  it  that  no  poet  has  yet 
given  adequate  expression  to  the  woe  unutterable  which 
characterizes  mal  de  mer?  The  first  day  out  every  thing  was 
calm,  and  the  ocean  smooth  as  a  mirror.  In  fact,  I  may  say 
that  our  movement  was  in  seven  flats — sea  flat. 

Poets  have  used  up  a  good  deal  of  "  divine  inflatus  "  on 
the  subject  of  "  Night  at  Sea."  I  desire  earnestly  to  enter 
my  protest  against  their  deceiving  any  more  people .  A  night 
at  sea,  under  the  bewitching  influence  of  a  fog  horn  between 


6  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

A  and  B  flat,  makes  one  remark  with  M.  Clarence/4  Oh  !  I 
have  passed  a  miserable  night."  Then,  also,  one  reads 
about  the  "  silent  watches  of  the  night,"  which,  on  an  ocean 
steamer ,  are  not  as  silent  even  as  a  Waterbury  watch .  Every 
half  hour  the  bells  wake  one  up  until  one  is  haunted  like 
Matthias  in  Irving's  play.  Even  the  dog-watch,  (so  called 
because  it  is  curtailed),  is  not  a  silent  one. 

The  next  day  came  a  fog,  and  with  it  grief.  The  upper 
deck  was  soon  occupied  by  the  members  of  a  large  excursion 
party,  who  improvised  a  hospital  ward  of  reasonable  dimen- 
sions. The  day  came  to  a  fog-horn  conclusion.  After 
observing  the  patients  a  while,  I  decided  that,  although 
they  were  not  lively,  they  were  very  active.  A  tenor 
singer  on  board  instantly  threw  up  his  engagements.  It 
must  not  be  supposed  that  these  persons  were  sick  for 
want  of  preventives.  For  the  benefit  of  my  readers,  and 
humanity  generally,  I  record  the  remedies  for  the  malady: 
First,  champagne.  Second,  eat  all  you  can.  Third,  eat 
very  lightly.  Fourth,  take  phosphates  and  lemons.  Fifth, 
avoid  everything  sour.  Sixth,  Ginger.  Seventh,  Bro- 
mide of  Sodium.  Eight,  Peppermint.  Ninth,  Strychnine, 
in  light  doses,  Tenth,  Seltzer  Aperient.  Against  such  an 
array  it  would  appear  to  be  impossible  for  the  sickness  to 
make  any  headwa}^,  but  I  suppose  it  gets  its  work  in  during 
the  intervals  between  the  taking  of  these  remedies.  One 
party  on  board  the  ship  confided  to  me  a  real  remedy.  He 
advised  me  to  drink  Bass's  ale  in  continuous  and  allopathic 
doses.  This,  it  seems  to  me,  changes  the  name  of  the  dis- 
turbance, but  does  not  essentially  alter  the  symptoms.  But 
then  this  man  belonged  to  the  "  unregenerate  party."  Let 
me  hasten  to  explain.  The  ship  had  among  its  passengers 
an  incredible  number  of  reverends — as  many  as  Mark  Twain 
met  with  in  his  ' '  Innocents  Abroad . "  In  fact,  were  it  not  for 
the  above  described  illness  and  its  kindly  remedies,  we  might 
have  had  one  continuous  service  all  the  way  across. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES,  7 

A  crusade  was  soon  organized  and  the  goats  driven  away 
from  the  sheep.  These  rampant  animals  took  refuge  in 
the  smoking  room,  where  they  gathered  around  tables  and 
played  a  game  whose  name  is  derived  from  one  of  the 
innocent  instruments  used  to  stir  the  fire.  In  this  case  the 
game  stirred  up  the  fire.  The  sheep  sent  a  petition,  that 
card  playing  be  stopped,  to  the  captain.  The  goats  con- 
cocted an  anonymous  and  satirical  proclamation,  wherein 
many  were  held  up  in  ridicule  to  an  unsympathetic  world. 
They  spared  none.  Even  I  (who  am  a  sheep)  was  lam- 
pooned with  the  rest.  The  sheep  appealed  to  the  captain 
to  protect  the  fold,  but  that  hardened  official  replied  in 
substance,  "A  plague  on  both  your  houses,"  only  he  im- 
proved the  force  of  Shakspeare's  language  by  judiciously 
interspersed  adjectives.  The  captain  loved  not  the  fold, 
and  there  was  a  degree  of  justice  in  his  dislike.  Many  of 
the  passengers  had  pinned  their  faith  upon  him  with 
a  confidence  which  would  have  flattered  the  oracle  at 
Delphi.  They  frequented  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge  to 
consult  him  as  to  the  various  details  of  the  sea  and  of  the 
voyage.  They  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of  oceanic  time 
table.  "How  long  will  the  fog  last?"  "Will  this  wind 
continue  all  the  way  over?"  ""When  will  we  see  an  ice- 
berg?" were  some  of  the  riddles  which  I  heard  pro- 
pounded at  the  oracular  shrine.  But  on  his  part  there  was 
none  of  the  Delphian  dignity.  He  would  gaze  at  his  ques- 
tioners with  awe-struck  and  open-eyed  wonder,  and  then 
recovering  from  his  astonishment,  would  inquire  whether 
he  was  taken  for  a  (profane)  weather  prophet. 

There  is  never  quite  the  homogeneity  on  a  large  ship 
that  one  finds  on  a  small  one.  People  gather  into  small 
groups  and  even  cliques  instead  of  being  an  entirely  united 
community.  Even  "  the  solitary  plank  between  us  and 
eternity,"  of  which  the  preacher  speaks  in  his  Sunday  ser- 
mon ,  does  not  weld  them  together .     But  in  one  thing  there 


8  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

is  not  only  sociability  but  communism,  and  that  is  in  the 
matter  of  steamer  chairs.  Label  your  chair  if  3-011  want  to, 
let  letters  as  large  as  the  scare-lines  of  the  Daily  Thunder- 
bolt proclaim  that  it  is  personal  property,  yet  some  fair 
female  in  a  state  of  eruption,  or  of  exhausted  somnolency, 
will  curl  up  in  it,  and  }^ou  (being  a  modern  chevalier 
Bayard)  will  walk  the  deck  until  she  gets  through.  The 
only  way  to  keep  outsiders  out  of  your  steamer  chair  is  to 
set  fire  to  it.  There  is  a  certain  caste  on  an  ocean 
steamer;  it  is  not  founded  on  wealth,  nor  brains,  nor  char- 
acter, but  on  voyages;  the  man  who  has  made  a  dozen  is  a 
veritable  Brahmin — the  one  who  is  on  his  first  trip  is  a 
meek  and  lowly  Pariah .  He  is  patronized ,  he  is  bullied,  and 
his  opinions,  if  he  dares  to  express  any,  are  pooh-poohed. 

The  days  on  board  of  an  ocean  steamer  pass  with  varying 
success.  I  must  dissent  from  the  poets  in  so  far;  after  the 
first  few  days  out,  "familarity  doth  breed  contempt,' '  or 
at  least  disappointment,  with  the  summer  sea,  and  then  the 
days  hang  heavily.  Shovel-board  and  ring  toss  fill  in  an 
occasional  chink,  but  in  this  voyage  the  main  relaxation 
was  in  religious  services.  From  twenty  prayers  which  I 
heard,  I  gathered  that  the  clergymen  all  approved  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  Atlantic  ocean  was  made.  The  pas- 
sengers practically  indorsed  the  empty  fifths  and  non-har- 
monic cross  relations  of  the  " Gospel  Hymns"  which  they 
conscientiously  sang  in  season  and  out  of  season,  but  which 
were  occasionally  varied  by  the  Miserere  from  "Trova- 
tore,"  sung  by  a  young  lady  with  a  rather  vague  and  hesi- 
tant knowledge  of  the  matter.  It  suited  admirably  to  the 
condition  of  the  limp  parties  of  the  "hospital  ward,"  as  the 
reclining  place  of  the  internally-disturbed  ones  on  the  up- 
per deck  came  to  be  called,  but  was  not  adapted  to  those 
enjoying  reasonable  health.  But  as  it  was  given  at  regu- 
lar intervals  during  the  day,  quantity  made  up  for  quality. 
Meanwhile  the  unregenerate  played  "Napoleon,"  regard- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  9 

less  of  any  moral  law .  They  kept  it  up  night  and  day  as  assi- 
duously as  the  hymnists  did  their  hymns.  In  short,  they 
had  a  long  ' '  Nap , ' '  but  little  sleep .  But  on  Saturday  night 
they  joined  in  the  sailor's  toast  and  remembered  "sweet- 
hearts and  wives  at  home,''  and  that  was  a  bit  of  senti- 
ment which  balanced  many  sins,  for  they  seemed  to  mean  it. 

But  a  dreadful  fate  befell  us  from  another  quarter.  On 
discovering  that  the  ship  had  no  secular  musical  works 
aboard ,  I  settled  down  in  calm  content .  Suddenly  a  fiend ,  a 
Nihilist  or  a  mistaken  philanthropist,  revealed  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  musical  album  in  his  trunk.  It  was  one  of  those 
economical  collections  that  give  you  two  or  three  hundred 
of  the  most  worn-out  tunes  for  fifty  cents.  And  after  that 
we  had  the  "Danube  River"  for  breakfast,  "ICannotSing 
the  Old  Songs"  for  lunch,  "In  the  Gloaming"  for  dinner, 
and  "Once  Again"  for  supper.  There  was  a  perfect  erup- 
tion of  Molloy ,  Sullivan,  and  Pinsuti,  The  awful  fact  was 
developed  that  we  had  more  singers  than  clergymen  among 
us.  We  were  between  Scylla  and  Chary bdis,  which  is  the 
polite  way  of  saying  that  we  had  got  out  of  the  frying  pan 
into  the  fire. 

Music  on  board  ship  is  more  or  less  of  a  nuisance,  but 
we  had  a  few  good  artists  aboard  who  made  the  inevitable 
concert  bearable.  However,  I  had  left  my  critical  pen 
(with  all  the  vitrol  carefully  wiped  off)  in  camphor  for 
the  summer,  and  shall  not  analyze  even  my  own  musical 
performances.  Of  course  "Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the 
Deep"  was  given,  and  equally  of  course  the  irreverent 
smoking-roomers  spoke  of  it  as  "Locked  in  the  stable  with 
the  sheep." 

The  regular  singing  during  the  concerts  was  by  no 
means  so  bad,  and  the  finale  was  especially  charming,  for 
we  all  took  hands  and  sang  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  in  true 
Scotch  style. 

And  now  (as  this  was  Saturday)  came  the  preparations 


10  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

for  Sunday.  Arrangements  for  divine  service  were  easily 
made,  for  there  was  to  be  a  church  assembly  in  Belfast, 
and  we  had,  as  already  intimated,  some  fifteen  clergymen 
on  board,  and  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  deacons.  But  the 
"best  laid  plans  of  mice  and  men"  went  to  pieces.  These 
clergymen  fell  to  offering  sacrifices  to  Neptune  with  a  zeal 
that  proved  that  they  were  not  good  Baptists.  One  sturdy 
minister,  however,  was  left,  like  Elijah,  "one  solitary 
prophet  of  the  Lord,"  and  he  gave  a  sermon  which  was 
emphatic  and  interesting.  I  was  especially  obliged  to  him 
that  he  did  not  bring  out  the  "solitary  plank"  in  his  dis- 
course. This  is  as  often  present  in  a  sermon  at  sea  as  the 
"solitary  horseman"  in  the  novels  of  G.  P.  R.  James.  It 
sends  a  thrill  of  horror  into  the  breasts  of  the  unregener- 
ate  to  tell  them  that  there  is  but  a  solitary  plank  between 
them  and  eternity,  and  they  are  only  reassured  by  going 
below  and  finding  that  the  plank  is  some  two  feet  thick  and 
well  braced,  whereupon  they  at  once  fall  back  into  their 
evil  ways.  I  have  always  thought  that  the  scriptural 
text,  "Cast  ye  up!"  would  furnish  excellent  material  for 
a  sea  sermon,  yet  I  have  never  heard  it  used. 

A  large  part  of  the  time  at  sea  is  spent  at  table.  After 
one  has  ceased  being  a  "contributor  to  the  Atlantic,"  one 
feels  as  if  he  were  built  hollow  all  the  way  through,  and 
the  work  of  filling  the  vacuum  begins. 

There  was,  however,  one  disturbing  element  at  our  table 
in  the  shape  of  a  steward  (or  waiter) ,  who  had  evidently 
just  been  captured  on  an  Irish  bog  and  pressed  into  service. 
When  we  first  met,  he  leaned  cordially  on  my  shoulder  and 
confidentially  asked  for  my  order.  Disentangling  myself 
from  his  embrace,  I  gave  him  the  details  of  my  projected 
meal,  but  immediately  found  that  his  friendly  interest  was 
somewhat  hampered  by  a  lack  of  knowledge.  He  brought 
me  many  articles  of  food,  but  never  by  any  chance  what  I 
had  called  for.     Now  began  a  series  of  object  lessons  which 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  \\ 

would  have  done  credit  to  any  kindergarten.  I  taught  him 
that  cucumbers  were  green,  and  tomatoes  were  red,  and  that 
in  this  respect  they  resembled  the  port  and  starboard  lights 
of  the  vessel .  I  caused  him  to  refrain  from  falling  upon 
my  neck  when  receiving  my  order.  I  taught  him  that  a 
meal  could  sometimes  pass  without  eating  potatoes,  which 
he  continually  and  confidently  brought  me.  I  could  not 
teach  him,  however,  that  the  hardness  of  a  hard-boiled  egg 
should  extend  below  the  shell,  and  I  once  sent  him  for 
"boiled  fowl,"  when  his  voice  was  pathetic  as,  suspecting 
me  of  playing  a  joke  upon  him,  he  replied,  "We  have  no 
bald  fowl,  sorr."  I  suppose  he  thought  that  I,  as  an 
American ,  wanted  a  bald-headed  eagle .  But  he  was  willing 
to  learn,  and  under  the  influence  of  sundry  coins  of  the 
realm  he  became  constantly,  if  less  affectionately,  attentive. 
He  was  possibly  a  near  relative  of  the  scriptural  steward 
"with  one  talent;"  his  one  talent  was  breathing  down  my 
neck  and  then  forgetting  my  order. 

The  tip  end  of  the  voyage  brought  the  charitable  concert, 
in  which  the  day  and  night  gangs  of  our  musical  laborers 
joined  forces  and  produced  a  tonal  feast  large  enough  to 
give  the  passengers  musical  dyspepsia.  Then  came  "  land 
ho!"  distant  views  at  first,  then  a  land  breeze  which  brought 
the  peat  odor  so  characteristic  of  Irish  cabins  and  Irish 
whiskey.  I  want  to  add  a  trifle  to  the  Shakespearian  dis- 
coveries of  Donnelly.  The  Bard  of  Avon  was  an  Irishman! 
He  has  described  both  the  Irish  breezes  and  the  Hibernian 
potheen  in  the  exquisite  but  hitherto  misunderstood  line, 
"  'Tis  true  'tis  peaty,  peaty  'tis,  'tis  true." 

The  usual  bother  with  customs  follows,  but  as  the  eminent 
Liverpudlian,  who  gazes  at  my  wearing  apparel  and  my 
soiled  linen,  finds  neither  alcohol,  nor  cigars,  nor  dynamite 
(I  have  no  small  vices)  he  decides  to  admit  me  to  the  land 
where  the  letter  "H"  is  so  badly  treated,  and  where  I  my- 
self receive  the  Satanic  title  of  "Hell.  C.  Hellson." 


12  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER  n. 

A    CHANNEL   PASSAGE COLOGNE GUIDES THE    CHURCH    OF 

ST.  URSULA AN    INTERVIEW  WITH    DR.  FERDINAND    HILLER 

A    MUSICAL   FESTIVAL. 

Naturally  one  goes  with  the  stream  of  continental  travel, 
from  London  to  Rotterdam  and  on  to  Germany.  The  way 
from  London  to  Cologne  is  long  and  decidedly  uncomfortable. 
The  channel  is  as  unreliable  as  a  spoiled  beauty,  one  day  all 
smiles  and  dimples,  the  next  in  an  ungovernable  temper  and 
fury. 

May  all  the  last  syllables  of  half  the  cities  in  Holland  be 
showered  upon  the  boat  that  took  me  across!  I  have  been 
in  Turkish  baths  at  210°,  and  I  have  been  in  St.  Louis  dur- 
ing the  heated  term ,  but  never  have  I  been  in  an  atmos- 
phere like  that  which  filled  the  cabin  of  the  steamer  of  the 
Great  Eastern  Railway. 

The  channel  boats  are  an  abominable,  eternal,  and  un- 
mitigated nuisance;  they  would  not  be  tolerated  in  America 
for  five  minutes.  Four  first-class  passengers  are  packed  in 
what  is  ironically  called  a  " state-room;"  there  is  certainly 
no  state  about  it,  and  precious  little  room.  Four  basins 
are  prominently  put  under  the  four  passengers'  noses, 
whether  they  want  them  or  not.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
cabin  is  so  dense  and  peculiar  that  I  wonder  that  somebody 
doesn't  cut  it  up  and  sell  it  in  Germany  as  Limburger 
cheese.  In  the  morning  we  get  up,  one  at  a  time,  and 
scratch,  for  it  would  be  impossible  to  scratch  a  duet  or  a 
trio  in  the  confined  space,  and  circumstances  over  which  we 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  \% 

have  no  control  seem  to  make  scratching  necessary .  Thank 
heaven  it  has  been  a  calm  night  and  Ossa  has  not  been 
heaped  upon  Pelion  in  the  way  of  misery. 

The  weather  in  Rotterdam  reminds  me  of  home.  If  ever 
a  meteorological  bureau  is  started  in  Holland  it  will  run  its 
reports  about  as  follows: — 

Cold  and  clear,  followed  by  warm  and  rainy,  interspersed  with 
thundershowers,  followed  by  light  frosts,  after  which  the  weather 
will  become  changeable. 

What  a  tantalizer  the  Dutch  tongue  is!  One  moment 
sounding  like  English,  another  like  German,  yet  always 
eluding  you  if  you  speak  either. 

I  had  my  triennial  search  for  a  bath  (I  trust  it  will  be 
understood  that  this  does  not  refer  to  bathing  in  its  totality, 
but  the  Holland  branch  of  it  only),  and  after  hunting  all 
over  the  city  for  Guricx's  barber  shop,  where  I  was  told  I 
could  get  one,  found  only  a  poor  joke  instead  of  a  bath. 
I  broke  up  a  little  German  to  make  it  sound  like  Dutch,  and 
said,  "I  want  a  bath,"  whereupon  the  facetious  barber  re- 
sponded in  good  German,  "Very  well,  you  may  take  one, 
but  I  haven't  got  any!"  The  idea  of  having  that  ancient 
joke  sprung  upon  me  in  a  strange  land ,  far  awa}^  from  home, 
was  too  much,  and  that  evening  I  shook  the  dust  of  Rotter- 
dam from  my  feet  and  started  for  Cologne. 

I  soon  saw  the  vast  dome  of  Cologne  rising  from  the  plain, 
long  before  any  other  building  was  visible,  and  in  half  an 
hour  was  crossing  the  Rhine  to  get  under  its  mighty  shadow . 
Heine  has  pictured  the  city  too  well  for  any  amateur  tourist 
to  say  much  about  it. 

"Im  Rhein,  im  heiligen  Strom  e 
Da  spiegelt  sich  in  den  Well'n, 
Mit  seinem  grossen  Dome 
Das  grosse  heilige  Coin." 


14  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

But  Cologne  has  become  somewhat  monotonous  to  me, 
because  it  seems  to  have  only  one  resident — Jean  Maria  Fa- 
rina. I  went  to  the  cathedral;  under  its  eaves  were  four 
distinct  Jean  Maria  Farinas;  I  went  along  a  back  street, 
there  was  another  J.  M.  Farina  who  had  evidently  strayed 
away  from  the  rest  of  the  family  and  got  lost;  I  went  to  the 
church  of  St.  Ursula  and  passed  another  farinaceous  settle- 
ment on  the  way.  I  think  that  the  only  solution  of  the 
mystery  is  that  the  original  Mrs.  Maria  Farina  must  have 
had  twins  with  a  regularity  very  painful  to  her  husband, 
who  brought  them  all  up  in  the  perfumery  business.  I 
dreamed  that  night  that  Cologne  was  a  great  Farina  pud- 
ding, and  was  being  stirred  up  with  the  dome  as  a  pudding 
stick .  I  have  mentioned  the  fact  that  I  went  to  the  church 
of  St.  Ursula  and  the  eleven  thousand  virgin  martyrs.  That 
noble  institution  interests  me.  Long  ago  St.  Ursula  came 
to  Germany  with  eleven  thousand  young  ladies.  The  Teu- 
tonic warrior  calmly  saw  the  price  of  chewing  gum  and 
confectionery  go  up  three  hundred  per  cent.;  he  saw  his 
morning  paper  disappear  to  make  bustles,  and  yet  he  made 
no  sign — possibly  because  sign-painting  was  not  yet  invented . 
But  when  these  eleven  thousand  and  one  ladies  demanded  the 
ballot,  and  outvoted  him  at  every  ward  election ,  he  saw  that 
the  time  for  action  had  come;  he  wrote  a  few  articles  to  the 
Atlantic  of  that  epoch — "What  shall  we  do  with  our  girls?" 
and  "The  superflous  woman," — and  then  killed  the  whole 
lot  and  started  the  "church  of  the  Holy  Boneyard"  with 
them .  The  bones  are  all  there  and  can  be  exhibited  to  any 
skeptic.  I  saw  them,  and  also  the  wine  bowl  used  at  the 
marriage  at  Cana,  and  a  few  other  relics  of  antique  con- 
viviality. 

The  pleasantest  event  of  my  earliest  Cologne  experience 
was  my  visit  to  that  Nestor  of  German  music  and  litera- 
ture, Dr.  Ferdinand  Hiller,  just  eight  months  before  his 
death.     It  was  fortunate  that  I  came  to  Cologne  a  few  days 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES,  15 

earlier  than  I  had  expected,  for  Dr.  Hiller  had  given  up  the 
post  of  musical  director  of  the  city  of  Cologne,  which  he  had 
held  so  honorably  for  so  long  a  time,  and  was  about  leaving  the 
city  to  take  up  his  residence  in  Bonn .  He  gave  me  a  most 
cordial  greeting  and  seemed  to  take  an  especial  interest  in 
informing  himself  about  our  progress  in  America.  Dr.  Hil- 
ler was  then  an  old  man,  but  advancing  years  had  left  no 
trace  upon  the  brightness  of  his  conversation  or  the  keenness 
of  his  intellect.  His  personal  appearance  was  still  impres- 
sive, although  he  had  become  very  stout,  and  his  gait  was 
slow,  if  not  feeble.  His  broad  face  was,  however,  full  of 
animation  when  he  became  interested  in  any  subject,  and 
his  words  then  flowed  rapidly  and  he  exhibited  fire  and  en- 
thusiasm much  at  variance  with  his  usual  quiet  mood.  He 
began  the  conversation  (after  greetings  had  been  exchanged) 
in  English,  but  I  observed,  spite  of  his  apparent  ease  in  this 
language,  that  when  he  became  forcible  he  slipped  back  into 
German .  His  first  inquiries  were  for  his  friends  in  America. 
Mr.  Dresel,  Mr.  Lang,  Mr.  Floersheim  and  Dr.  Damrosch 
were  especially  remembered ,  and  greetings  sent  to  them  in 
German  fashion.  Dr.  Hiller  knew  our  Boston  S}Tmphonic 
programmes  quite  thoroughly,  but  was  not  acquainted  with 
the  works  of  any  of  our  American  composers.  I  was  un- 
feignedly  sorry  that  the  works  of  Paine,  Whiting,  Chadwick, 
Buck,  Parker  and  others  should  not  be  known  in  Europe, 
for  undoubtedly  some  of  the  musicians  there  think  that  we 
still  occupy  ourselves  in  producing  negro  melodies  and 
"  mother  "  songs.  Dr.  Hiller  was  pleased  to  learn  that  his 
little  tone  picture — "The  Sentinel" — had  won  much  success 
at  the  Symphony  Concerts.  "  It  is  only  a  trifle,"  said  he, 
"but  it  seems  to  succeed,  as  far  as  it  goes."  But  he  would 
not  speak  much  of  himself  or  his  own  work,  although  he  grew 
eloquent  when  I  spoke  of  his  old  friend  Auerbach.  He  had 
but  recently  written  an  article  in  a  Cologne  journal  about 


16  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

the  great  novelist;   "  Not  anything  extensive,  but  a  friend 
can  always  write  best  about  a  friend,"  he  said. 

Speaking  of  American  music,  he  remarked:  "  I  fear  that 
you  are  sometimes  too  gigantic,  in  musical  festivals  for  exam- 
ple. It  is  a  natural  fault  in  a  young  nation  which  likes  to  do 
things  at  wholesale . ' '  He  earnestly  inquired  about  the  stand- 
ing of  opera  among  us  ("  The  human  voice  always  remains 
the  greatest  instrument,"  said  he)  and,  deprecating  the  star 
system ,  hoped  that  we  would  not  give  German  opera  unless 
every  part,  great  and  small,  were  adequately  filled.  Speak- 
ing of  the  epochs  of  composition,  he  thought  that,  spite  of 
the  universal  striving  for  a  master's  crown,  which  is  apparent 
to-day,  we  would  make  but  a  poor  showing  beside  the  golden 
period  when  Haydn ,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Schubert,  and  Weber 
followed  in  such  quick  succession,  which  he  compared  to  the 
Raphael  epoch  in  painting .  '  'But , "  he  added , "  to-day  is  the 
epoch  of  execution.  The  great  works  have  never  received 
such  performances  as  they  do  now,  and  this  is  true  not  only 
of  orchestral  but  of  almost  all  musical  works. "  Happening 
to  speak  of  England,  he  interrupted  me  to  say  that  the  Eng- 
lish were  more  than  mere  art  patrons;  they  appreciated  what 
was  really  worthy,  and  he  cited  examples  from  Handel  to 
Mendelssohn;  "  but,"  he  concluded,  "  their  drawing-room 
music  is  often  very  bad,"  and  he  shuddered ,  possibly  at  the 
recollection  of  some  English  drawing-room  tenor.  I  ven- 
tured to  quote  the  partisan  spirit  which  was  shown  in  Eng- 
land against  Schumann ,  in  the  cause  of  Mendelssohn .  ' '  Ah , 
yes,"  he  replied,  "  but  almost  the  same  could  be  said  of 
Germany  at  that  time.  Schumann  was  a  plant  of  slow 
growth  the  world  over."  Again  reverting  to  the  dearth  of 
really  great  composers,  he  said:  "  Whom  have  we  in  the 
symphonic  field  to-day?  Possibly  Brahms  only.  Of  course 
time  will  sift  all  composers  justly.  Only  the  really  worthy 
works  remain  after  a  generation  has  passed  away.  Unfor- 
tunately sometimes  very  little  remains." 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  17 

In  speaking  of  American  literature — and  Dr.  Hiller  was  as 
great  in  literary  as  in  musical  analysis — he  expressed  great 
admiration  for  some  of  the  works  of  Bret  Harte.  "We 
have  no  such  characters  in  Germany,  but  they  are  so  vividly 
drawn  that  they  must  have  real  prototypes  somewhere.' ' 
This  is  all,  (save  matters  of  a  private  or  social  character), 
that  I  can  recall  of  an  interview  with  one  of  the  greatest  of 
the  musicians  of  the  pure  school  of  Germany.  All  through 
the  conversation  I  was  struck  by  the  conservative  bent  of 
the  mind  of  Dr.  Hiller.  He  scarcely  mentioned  the  modern 
radical  composers,  but  when  he  did  he  did  not  altogether 
condemn,  but  seemed  to  think  their  claims  "not  proven," 
and  that  their  influence  was  pushing  aside  a  worthier  and 
healthier  school — Mozart's,  for  example.  As  I  rose  to  bid 
farewell,  the  doctor  reiterated  his  greetings  to  American 
friends,  and  as  I  expressed  a  wish  that  we  might  yet  see  him 
amongst  us,  he  smiled  and  sighed,  and  said,  "Ah,  no!  it  is 
too  late  now."  And  so  I  left  one  who  has  "fought  the 
good  fight"  for  music,  and  whose  influence  has  been  a  shin- 
ing light  to  those  who  desire  to  see  the  musician  become 
less  of  a  specialist  and  more  a  man  of  broad  culture. 

And  now  followed  a  musical  feast  upon  which  I  stumbled 
almost  unawares.  I  had  found  an  American  resident  in 
Cologne,  who  insisted  upon  taking  me  around  the  city.  As 
we  were  seated  at  table  preparatory  to  this  circular  enter- 
prise, an  editor  of  the  "KolnischeNachrichten"  took  a  seat 
near  us  in  the  restaurant.  We  were  speedily  introduced  and 
soon  joined  by  an  editor  of  the  "Kolnische  Zeitung,"  with 
whom  I  had  journe}red  to  Bayreuth  a  year  before.  At  once 
the  Amerikaner  was  made  the  honored  guest,  and  when  I 
mentioned  that  I  desired  to  gather  musical  education  unto 
myself,  they  shouted,  "You  have  come  just  right!  We 
will  go  to  the  Maennerchor  and  Schubertbund ! "  I  was 
ready  to  go  to  the  stake  in  such  good  company,  so  I  yielded 
a  willing  consent.     The  occasion  turned  out  to  be  a  special 


18  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

one.  The  Schubertbuncl — a  male  chorus  of  Vienna — had 
come  hundreds  of  miles  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  rival  society  away 
up  here  in  Cologne.  Your  true  German  Maennerchor  likes 
to  have  heartiness,  mirth  and  gemuthliclikeit  mixed  in  with 
its  singing,  and  I  knew  beforehand  what  I  might  expect; 
for  had  I  not  been  at  "salamanders"  and  other  festivities  at 
our  own  Orpheus  Club  in  Boston?  Arrived  at  the  hall  I 
found  about  a  thousand  people  present  seated  at  long  tables, 
and  ready  to  begin  the  ceremonies  of  welcome.  These  be- 
gan by  the  Kolner  Maennergesangverein  (some  one  hundred 
and  fifty  members)  stepping  upon  the  stage  and  singing  four 
songs  of  welcome  to  their  guests.  Such  solid,  manly  sing- 
ing can  seldom  be  heard.  The  Apollo  Club  of  Boston  may 
sing  with  more  perfect  finish ,  but  not  with  such  a  noble  en- 
thusiasm or  genuine  heartiness.  Now  the  Cologne  society 
left  the  stage  and  the  Austrians  took  it.  They  sang  four 
songs  also,  but  with  thinner,  more  sugary  voices.  The 
company  present  was  a  distinguished  one;  all  the  litterateurs, 
physicians,  lawyers  and  great  merchants  of  Cologne  were 
there,  and  the  speeches  were  of  a  brilliant  character,  although 
a  mutual  admiration  element  was  naturally  in  the  fore- 
ground. Some  good  points  were  made,  however,  as  when 
the  president  put  the  old  conundrum  "Was  ist  des  Deutschen 
Vaterland?"  and  answered  it — 

"So  weit  die  Deutsche  Zunge  klingt 
Und  Gott  im  Himmel  Lieder  sing-t," 

which  brought  the  Austrians  into  the  fold .  Then ,  of  course 
the  Danube  and  the  Rhine  were  made  to  intertwine,  and  the 
toasts  were  followed  with  plenty  of  vocal  "  Hochs,"  and 
finally  musical  slips  were  passed  around,  and  we  all  united  in 
singing  a  song  of  welcome. 

But   every   one  who   knows   the  spirit  of  the  German 
Maennerchor  (where  singing  is  a  means ,  rather  than  an  end) 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  19 

will  understand  that  the  real  fun  began  after  the  speeches 
and  formalities  were  concluded.  Then  came  impromptu 
poems  (knittelversen),  burlesque  orations,  stage  representa- 
tions ,  and  other  enlivening  proceedings .  A  bass  whose  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  a  sub-cellar ,  and  whose  compass  seemed 
in  the  neighborhood  of  twenty  octaves,  sang  the  mournful 
ballad  "Im  tiefen  Keller,"  without  which  no  German  would 
be  heartily  jolly.  At  1  a.  m.  I  thought  I  would  go  to  my 
hotel,  although  the  hilarity  showed  no  signs  of  diminishing. 
I  heard  the  next  day  that  at  3  a.  m.  some  wilted  Austrians 
were  trying  to  open  the  great  door  of  Cologne  Cathedral 
with  their  latch  ke}rs,  under  the  impression  that  they  lodged 
there;  but  only  a  decorous  and  reasonable  Katzen jammer 
visited  the  sedate  American  guest. 


20  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER    III. 

LEIPSIC SKETCH   OF    THE    CONSERVATORY INTERVIEW    WITH 

JADASSOHN EVENING  WITH  REINECKE — A  GERMAN  KNEIPE. 

"  I  was  borne  to  Bingen, 
Sweet  Bing-en  on  the  Rhine," 

By  a  steamboat  which  stopped  at  about  every  excuse  for  a 
wharf  along  the  entire  river.  Probably  this  is  the  best  way 
to  study  the  beauties  of  the  historic  stream,  and  it  is  better, 
too,  to  take  a  boat  on  the  upward  journey,  as  it  goes  slower 
than  the  downward  bound  ones.  The  express  boats  are  less 
desirable  for  the  traveler  who  desires  to  see  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  the  scenery,  although  I  have  found  them  comforta- 
ble enough  for  traveling.  Of  course  the  musician  will  stop 
off  at  Bonn,  and  go  to  the  house  where  Beethoven  was  born; 
but  here  he  will  find  himself  in  a  quandary,  for  there  are 
two  of  them!  The  guide  would  like  to  persuade  you  that 
Beethoven  was  twins  and  born  half  a  mile  apart  at  that! 
And  also,  if  possible,  get  a  double  fee  for  having  shown  you 
two  birthplaces  where  you  only  expected  to  find  one.  The 
house  near  the  river  is  probably  the  only  genuine  birthplace, 
although  both  are  labeled  by  the  city. 

The  Rhine  scenery  only  begins  to  grow  beautiful  above 
Bonn,  so  the  traveler  can  go  thither  by  railroad  if  he 
chooses,  and  take  the  boat  there.  Of  course  I  am  not  about 
to  inflict  a  detailed  account  of  this  scenery  upon  the  "gentle 
reader,"  lest  he  should  become  ferocious ,  but  I  may  at  least 
state  that  on  a  Sunday  or  a  holiday  the  Rhine  becomes  a 


"-:.:■ 


CARL    REINECKE, 

DIRECTOR    OF    THE    ROYAL    MUSICAL    CONSERVATORY    OF    LEIPSICo 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  21 

perfect  river  of  song;  there  is  a  constant  visiting  and  repay- 
ing of  visits  going  on  among  the  Maennerchore,  and  as  the 
boat  draws  toward  a  landing  you  will  hear  songs  of  greeting 
and  songs  of  welcome,  from  both  wharf  and  steamer.  Ger- 
many may  not  be  a  land  of  vocalists,  but  it  is  certainly  a 
land  of  singers,  and  if  "die  Meistersinger "  have  passed  away, 
their  mantle  has  fallen  on  broad  shoulders,  and  still  broader 
waists,  in  the  male  choristers  who  swarm  on  every  hand; 
and  they  sing  with  a  heartiness  that  would  atone  for  many 
more  vocal  sins  than  they  commit.  And  when  they  are 
very  jovial  they  dance  too.  But  do  not  dance  with  them, 
unless  you  enjoy  pleasure  mingled  with  danger,  for  most  of 
them  dance  very  much  like  pile  drivers,  with  a  ponderous 
vertical  motion,  and  the  inexperienced  partner  cannot 
always  escape.  At  St.  Goar,  if  there  is  a  singing  society 
left  on  board  they  will  frequently  favor  you  with  "  The 
Loreley,"  in  honor  of  that  first  cousin  of  the  sirens. 

Bingen  does  not  show  much  that  is  either  historical  or 
musical,  but  it  is  tranquil  beyond  belief.  It  nestles  among 
vineyards,  and  if  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  likes  you  he  will 
give  you  a  room  overlooking  the  Rhine,  with  just  space 
enough  between  you  and  the  river  for  a  little  arbor,  where 
you  can  take  breakfast  in  the  open  air. 

In  the  evening  I  took  the  ferry  to  Riidesheim,  and  climbed 
up  amid  the  vineyards  to  the  place  where  they  have  erected 
the  colossal  statue  of  Germania,  in  memory  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war.  How  out  of  place  it  seemed!  Below  lay  the 
peaceful  valley,  with  the  sunset  gilding  the  quiet  villages; 
a  shower  had  just  passed,  and  over  Johannisberg  there  lin- 
gered a  faint  rainbow;  the  sweet  earth-smell  and  the  odor 
of  "the  green  things  growing"  was  all  around;  the  vesper 
bells  sounded  softly  from  Riidesheim  and  Bingen — and 
there,  amidst  it  all,  was  the  grim  military  memento,  and  the 
tablet  of  the  emperor  and  his  generals. 


22  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

But,  after  all,  one  cannot  lose  the  military  impression  in 
Germany — soldiers,  soldiers,  soldiers,  everywhere  and  at 
all  times. 

Mainz  came  after  Bingen,  and  seemed  very  prosy  by  con- 
trast, but  I  stayed  one  day  at  a  prison-like  hotel  and  medi- 
tated .  In  the  morning  the  waiter  brought  breakfast  to  my 
room  and  insisted  upon  setting  the  table  there.  It  took  the 
most  earnest  representations  to  convince  him  that  I  had 
not  been  condemned  to  solitary — only  to  ordinary  imprison- 
ment. But  then  came  Frankfort  and  made  amends,  for 
Frankfort  is  one  of  the  liveliest  cities  in  Germany.  It  offers 
much  to  the  antiquarian  also.  Its  old  streets  and  narrow 
alleys  are  in  most  instances  exactly  as  they  were  300  or  400 
years  ago.  The  houses  lean  over  confidentially  to  within  a 
few  feet  of  each  other  as  if  they  were  whispering  their 
opinions  of  the  modern  life  now  going  on  under  their  eaves, 
and  were  comparing  it  with  "the  good  old  times,"  which  I 
think  were  very  bad  old  times,  times  of  torture,  of  rapine 
and  cruelty,  and  of  prejudice.  Nevertheless,  one  can 
wander  about  the  old  city  for  hour  after  hour  and  never 
grow  bored.  There  is  no  need  of  special  sightseeing  when 
every  street  is  a  sight,  and  where  everything  is  quaint  and 
peculiar.  However,  it  is  incumbent  to  go  across  the  old 
bridge  (14th  century)  and  taste  the  apfelwein  at  Sachsen- 
hausen.  This  beverage  is  twin  brother  to  very  ancient 
cider  of  Maine.  When  I  first  tasted  it  I  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
this  is  hard!"  The  average  tourist  may  devote  a  day  to 
this  excursion,  the  morning  to  apple-wine,  the  afternoon  to 
colic. 

There  is  the  usual  bother  at  the  hotel  (a  thoroughly  Ger- 
man one,  and  not  the  tourist's  great  Hotel  Sohwan),  about 
a  bath.  Every  trip  this  occurs  somewhere,  and  it  is  always 
annoying.  It  is  embarrassing  to  take  a  warm  bath  which 
will  not  get  warm,  and  (when  you  are  in  dishabille,  and 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  23 

complain  through  the  door,  which  never  locks,  to  the 
waiter)  to  have  several  persons  enter  and  hold  a  council  of 
war  over  your  head.  When  the  debating  society  has  quite 
finished,  they  deign  to  tell  you  the  results  of  their  delibera- 
tions which  are,  first,  the  building  is  being  repaired,  and 
the  bath  has  suffered  thereby;  second,  there  are  fine  warm 
baths  on  the  Main  river,  a  mile  away;  third,  the  waiter 
doesn't  understand  how  to  manage  the  bath;  fourth,  the 
plug  which  he  has  pulled  to  let  cold  water  out,  lets  it  in; 
and  lastly,  the  chambermaid  shall  bring  up  hot  water  in 
pails  until  the  required  temperature  is  attained.  I  court- 
eously return  thanks  to  the  assembly  and  intimate  that  if 
they  will  retire  I  will  ablute  regardless  of  temperature, 
which  they  do,  and  I  do,  although  I  take  the  precaution  of 
barricading  the  keyless  door,  resolved  to  resist  any  further 
invasion  to  the  death. 

At  the  little  hotel  I  had  the  typical  German  food  (I  may 
as  well  confess  to  enjoying  it),  and  at  each  meal,  while  I 
hoped  for  the  best,  I  was  prepared  for  the  Wurst. 

Speaking  of  that  leads  me  to  say  a  word  about  meats  of 
continental  Europe.  Beef  is  generally  execrable;  mutton, 
not  much  better;  lamb,  generally  of  Pompeian  antiquity; 
but  veal  always  excellent  and  pork  good.  There  are  sepa- 
rate butchers  in  each  branch,  and  "  beef  butcher,"  "swine 
butcher,"  "calf  butcher,"  are  the  usual  signs  over  their 
shops. 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  traveler  who  declaimed  against 
Pisa  as  the  wettest  of  cities?  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  twenty 
years  ago  I  left  Pisa  and  it  was  raining;  I  come  back  and  it 
is  raining  still! "  Well,  that  may  suit  to  Heidelberg.  It 
rains  there  even  in  the  finest  weather,  I  think,  and  the  same 
is  true  of  the  Black  Forest. 

I  believe  the  moist  weather  is  considered  good  for  the 
grapes  which  are  flourishing.     They  only  gather  them  in 


24  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

after  they  are  touched  by  the  frost.  This  came  about  by 
accident  at  first.  One  year  the  grapes  ripened  slowly  and 
they  were  left  on  the  vines  until  late  in  autumn.  There 
came  a  nipping  frost,  and  all  the  vineyard  owners  thought 
the  wine  was  ruined.  The  Johannisberg  grapes  were  sold 
in  one  batch  to  a  speculator.  That  year  the  wine  was  better 
than  ever,  and  since  then  the  wine  makers  have  profited  by 
the  lesson.  Of  course  in  Heidelberg  one  must  go  straight 
to  the  castle.  It  is  the  most  picturesque  ruin  in  Europe. 
The  kitchen,  with  its  enormous  spit  and  chimney,  where 
they  roaited  oxen  whole,  and  the  great  banqueting  hall,  are 
impressive  enough  still.  They  dined  and  wined  heartily  in 
those  days,  and  then  they  roasted  a  few  Protestants  as  an 
agreeable  pastime  for  dessert,  and  said  "  by  my  halidome  " 
and  "  away  with  him  to  the  castle  moat,"  and  other  things 
that  we  only  get  in  the  dime  novels  nowadays.  I  was  greatly 
interested  in  one  statue  of  wood,  which  they  kept  appro- 
priately in  the  cellar  opposite  the  big  wine  barrel.  It  was 
the  duke's  jester,  who  lived  somewhere  in  the  beginning 
of  the  last  century .  His  claim  to  historical  perpetuity  lies 
in  the  fact  that  he  drank  eighteen  bottles  of  wine  every  day. 
I  think  he  should  have  made  it  an  even  twenty,  but  I  sup- 
pose he  did  not  wish  to  become  a  hard  drinker  merely  for 
the  sake  of  two  bottles  of  wine  daily . 

After  the  castle  the  university  is  the  spot  that  most  at- 
tracts me.  There  is  a  story  of  a  person  seeking  this  insti- 
tution and  asking  another  the  way  to  it: — 

First  party:  "I  beg  pardon,  but  can  you  tell  me  where 
the  university  is?" 

Second  Party:  "I'm  very  sony  I  can't;  I'm  a  student 
myself! " 

This  might  be  true  for  two  reasons:  Firstly,  the  build- 
ings are  small  and  unimpressive,  and  secondly,  the  students 
are  not  obliged  to  attend  any  lectures  whatever.     When  it 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  25 

comes  to  examinations,  however,  they  cannot  pull  through 
in  the  manner  of  some  American  college  students  that  I 
know  of,  and  on  the  whole  the  results  are  as  thorough  as 
those  achieved  by  universities  with  more  exacting  details  of 
discipline.  I  went  through  the  main  building  with  a  proc- 
tor of  radiant  nose  and  beery  breath,  and  through  him  suc- 
ceeded in  speaking  to  a  couple  of  the  professors,  (who  are 
addressed  as  "excellenz,")  one  of  whom  invited  me  into  his 
recitation  room,  where  I  heard  a  pleasant  discourse  upon 
"Goethe  and  Schiller."  But  the  students  interested  me 
most .  Evidently  the  baneful  practice  of  duelling  has  not  yet 
become  obsolete,  for  some  of  them  had  faces  that  reminded 
me  of  modern  magazine  articles,  they  were  so  "copiously 
illustrated  with  cuts." 

I  also  visited  a  newspaper  office  in  Heidelberg,  and  was 
amazed  at  the  calmness  and  tranquility  which  pervaded  the 
place.  If  you  want  to  live  in  pensive  solitude  and  medita- 
tion, become  an  editor  of  a  German  newspaper.  They  do 
not  exchange  over  there,  because  the  papers  are  of  different 
prices,  and  they  think  it  would  not  be  fair  all  round.  They 
have  no  American  news  whatever,  spite  of  the  fact  that  al- 
most everyone  in  Germany  has  relatives  among  us.  The 
advertisements  are  often  abbreviated  to  save  expense,  and 
the  result  is  sometime  rather  ludicrous.  I  translate  here  for 
example: — 

"coreligionists  . 

A  young  man,  reduced  circ,  well  ed.,  Luth.  church,  25 
yrs.  o.  makes  strenuous  app.  for  imm.  posit.  Ab.  and  will, 
to  work.     Add.  2104  this  off." 

The  above  is  literal,  and  is  difficult  to  decipher  as  a  rebus. 
The  pathos  is,  however,  largely  taken  out  of  it  by  abbrevi- 
ation . 

In  passing  through  Baden  I  noticed  that  woman's  rights 
were  much  respected.  They  have  the  right  to  labor  even 
harder  than  the  men.     I  saw  many  a  hideous  Maud  Muller 


26  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

in  the  fields,  not  only  raking  hay,  but  mowing,  plowing 
and  doing  all  the  farmers'  work.  If  they  would  only  in- 
troduce Mor monism  there,  a  large  farmer  might  have  an 
easy  and  profitable  time,  but  one  wife  is  scarcely  enough 
working  capital,  no  matter  how  hard  it  is  worked. 

The  railroad  from  Heidelberg  down  to  Freiburg  is  one  of 
those  calmly  deliberate  institutions  that  annoy  an  Ameri- 
can .  The  train  goes  as  slowly  as  a  district  messenger  boy, 
and  stops  as  often  as  a  man  at  work  on  a  job  for  which  he 
is  paid  by  the  day.  I  was,  however,  preserved  from  ennui 
by  the  fact  that  the  conductor,  or  guard,  was  a  new  one, 
and  had  a  phenomenal  lack  of  memory.  I  was  kept  busy 
almost  the  entire  time  in  showing  him  my  tickets .  At  the 
twentieth  examination  my  patience  gave  out,  and  I  asked 
him  (in  English)  if  he  knew  that  he  was  a  nuisance  from 
Nuisance  ville. 

"Ja!  freilich?"  ("Yes,  certainly,")  said  he,  rather  than 
confess  that  he  did  not  understand  me. 

I  had  a  more  crushing  revenge  at  the  end  of  the  trip,  for 
after  he  had  quite  got  through  with  his  punching,  clipping 
and  examining,  I  found  that  he  had  punched  just  one  ticket 
too  many  in  my  round  trip  book,  and  I  introduced  him 
to  the  superintendent  at  Freiburg,  who  delivered  an  oration 
which  was  Spartan  in  brevity,  but  sulphurous  in  quality. 
No  one  knows  what  language  can  do  until  he  has  heard  a 
German  official  swear.  But  all  petty  annoyances  subside 
in  the  cool,  calm  atmosphere  of  Freiburg,  the  city  which 
stands  at  the  edge  of  the  forest.  One  can  see  one  evidence 
of  mountain  neighborhood  in  the  peculiar  drainage  of  the 
city 

In  every  street  are  deep  gutters  of  clear,  rapidly-run- 
ning water.  In  Freiburg,  at  least,  rolling  in  the  gutter, 
would  not  mean  uncleanliness.  The  neat,  commercial 
hotel,  "The  Roman  Emperor,"  where  we  stay,  adds  to  our 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES  27 

contentment,  and  its  host,  Herr  Spreter,  is  a  veritable  Hans 
Sachs,  burly,  hearty,  and  a  vivid  contrast  to  the  fawning 
type  of  landlord  one  finds  so  numerous  in  Europe.  He  has 
his  opinions,  too,  and  he  told  the  fisherman  of  our  party 
(for  here  I  met  a  quintette  of  American  friends  "doing" 
the  forest) ,  that  he  was  a  lunatic  for  desiring  trout  fried  in 
lard  when  he  could  have  them  boiled  in  the  Black  Forest 
style.  This  style  was  peculiar,  I  must  say,  for  the  fish 
were  always  brought  to  the  table  alive,  at  first,  swimming 
in  a  bucket  of  water. 

Although  this  dish  was  peculiar,  the  table  d'hote  was  of 
the  conventional  pattern.  All  table  d'hotes  are.  Do  you 
know  what  this  infliction  means?  It  is  as  if  a  French  cook 
were  pursuing  you  through  Europe!  Everywhere  the  same 
food,  cooked  forever  in  the  same  manner.  The  solemnity 
begins  with  soup,  after  which  comes  a  long  pause,  so  long 
that  you  fear  that  the  waiters  have  gone  off  to  catch  the 
fish.  Finally  they  appear  with  the  viand  in  question, 
together  with  a  butter  sauce  and  a  dish  of  boiled  potatoes. 
Now  follows  a  long  hiatus,  ample  time  being  given  to  digest 
the  fish  and  get  up  a  new  appetite.  Slowly  and  mournfully 
the  waiters  approach  with  bad  roast  beef  and  string  beans. 
Again  an  interregnum ,  and  then  comes  veal  in  some  shape . 
The  lapse  of  time  which  now  follows  is  such  that  the  guests 
feel  old  age  coming  on;  at  last  the  waiters  come  on  also, 
and  donate  a  piece  of  chicken  or  capon  with  salad  to  each 
victim.  Finally  the  now  decrepit  and  toothless  guests  re- 
ceive some  pudding,  fruit,  etc.,  and  depart.  The  man  who 
has  lived  ten  years  at  a  European  hotel  has  probably  spent 
six  years  waiting  for  courses  at  a  table  d'hote,  arid  the  above 
lines  apply  to  every  table  d'hote  in  Europe. 

A  fact  worth  recording  is  that  when  we  leave  the  Freiburg 
hotel  our  burly  host  not  only  wrings  our  hands  almost  off, 
but  gives  to  each  a  little  present.     To  me  he  gave  a  bottle 


28  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

of  Kirschwasser,  strong  enough  to  burn  through  the  stomach 
of  a  bronze  statue.  I,  however,  used  it  on  the  guides  and 
drivers  along  the  route,  and  they  do  not  curl  up  and  die, 
but  smack  their  lips  and  enjoy  it,  as  the  Irishman  did  the 
aquafortis. 

We  leave  the  land  of  railroad  and  stage  here,  and  on 
horseback  and  in  a  wagonnette,  hired  by  the  day,  pursue 
our  explorations  into  the  forest.  The  very  names  are  awe- 
inspiring.     Our  first  point  is  the  "Hollenthal." 

"Down  into  the  valley  of  Hell 
Rode  the  six — tourists." 

A  fanciful  name,  but  well  enough  deserved,  for  steep 
cliffs,  dark  glens  and  weird  gorges  are  in  it,  and  just  after 
it  comes  the  "Himmelreich,"  or  " Paradise,' '  a  smiling  and 
pleasant  valley,  in  fine  contrast.  We  pass  innumerable 
crucifixes.  On  almost  every  house  there  is  a  holy  horror 
of  some  sort.     It  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  celestial  fire  insurance. 

The  tiny  chapels  and  churches  in  the  depth  of  the  woods 
are,  however,  a  charming  feature  of  the  tour.  We  passed 
one  little  forest  church  which  was  so  diminutive  that  if 
Phillips  Brooks  were  to  preach  'in  it,  it  would  be  full,  with- 
out any  congregation  whatever.  At  the  little  village  of 
Hollenthal,  just  in  front  of  the  Star  Hotel,  we  organized  an 
impromptu  game  of  base  ball.  The  nines  were  very  frag- 
mentary, but  energetic,  and  the  natives  got  out  of  the  way 
with  much  celerity  whenever  a  hot  one  came  from  the  bat. 
They  evidently  thought  that  we  were  members  of  some 
insane  asylum,  and  treated  us  with  respectful  pity. 

Finally  one  of  the  party  knocked  the  ball  into  a  mountain 
stream  and  another  tumbled  in  after  it  while  trying  to  fish 
it  out,  and  the  game  came  to  an  untimely  end,  but  we  had 
the  satisfaction  of  being  the  first  to  play  the  American  game 
in  the  Black  Forest. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  29 

Then  followed  a  walk  through  the  Rabenschlucht — the 
raven 's  gorge — the  beauty  of  which  I  cannot  represent  even 
if  I  were  to  print  this  chapter  in  colored  ink.  In  every 
direction  are  beautiful  walks  and  grand  views,  and  a  whole 
summer  could  not  exhaust  the  interest  of  these  valleys  and 
hills.  If  the  peasants  could  exist  on  scenery  they  would 
have  an  easy  time  of  it;  as  it  is  they  live  mostly  on  potatoes, 
and  are  underfed  and  overworked.  We  go  on  to  the  Titi 
See,  which  is  a  lake  in  the  midst  of  hills,  full  of  fish.  The 
roads  all  through  this  wonderful  region  are  marvelously 
well  made,  as  smooth  as  a  table,  and  as  clean. 

At  this  point  I  made  a  detour  alone,  to  the  little  hamlet 
of  Untermiinsterthal,  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  famous 
woods.  A  ruined  castle  stands  at  the  entrance  of  the  forest, 
which  is  black  and  gloomy  enough  to  countenance  all  the 
terrible  legends  of  robbery  and  violence  which  cluster 
around  the  place. 

On  the  way  to  the  place  I  pass  through  the  busy  little  city  of 
Stauff en .  Along  the  road  I  count  fifteen  crucifixes  and  shrines 
and  ten  breweries,  from  which  I  conclude  that  the  inhabi- 
tants are  devoted  to  religion  and  beer.  As  I  drive  along 
in  my  lordly  coach  every  one  takes  off  his  hat  in  humble 
salute,  which  I  acknowledge  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  as  I 
suppose  a  great  lord  might  do,  but  my  dignity  sits  rather 
heavily  upon  me.  I  might  ride  all  around  Chicago  in  a 
hansom,  and  pay  double  the  fare  I  am  now  giving,  and  not 
get  so  much  homage.  I  feel  like  the  rightful  lord  of  the 
manor,  returning  to  his  own  amid  the  joyous  shouts  of  the 
happy  peasantry,  in  the  fifth  act  of  a  Bowery  melo- drama. 

But,  alas,  the  peasantry  are  not  all  happy,  as  I  soon  find 
out,  for  I  have  undertaken  to  bear  the  greetings  of  an  absent 
son  to  his  parents  in  the  far-off  forest,  and  in  the  little  cot- 
tage the  mother  weeps  and  weeps  to  think  that  her  boy  has 
somehow  come  nearer  to  her,  and  yet  is  so  far  away.     "The 


30  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor"  have  been  to  me  the 
dreariest  thing  in  all  Europe  since  I  first  landed  on  that  side. 
Yet  there  is  something  to  be  said  in  favor  of  vegetating  as 
some  of  these  villagers  do.  The  pretty  cottages,  with  low, 
over-hanging  roofs,  are  not  uncomfortable,  and  the  barn  at 
the  side,  the  piles  of  wood  near  the  door,  the  mountain  tor- 
rents rushing  by,  the  wind  soughing  and  singing  in  the 
trees,  and  the  weird  yet  alluring  depths  of  the  wonderful 
enchanted  forest,  make  up  a  picture  which  must  make  some 
impression  on  the  inhabitants,  even  though  they  know  it 
not.     Their  very  legends  and  folk-lore  prove  it. 

On  my  return  I  find  the  party  quite  ready  to  proceed  to 
Furtwangen,  a  distance  of  fully  forty  miles  through  the 
forest  by  stage.  It  is  a  delight  to  get  away  from  the  iron 
horse,  to  leave  railroads  and  civilization  altogether,  (even 
if  we  cannot  leave  the  beer  saloon) ,  and  come  to  the  quaint 
little  villages  nestling  among  the  hills,  where  the  inhabitants 
know  nothing  of  tourists,  not  even  enough  to  bleed  them. 
From  the  valleys  our  road  goes  up  into  the  clouds,  and  at 
Giitenbach  it  is  as  cold  as  the  most  cultured  Bostonian. 
Allured  by  the  frigidity,  and  the  apparent  proximity  of  the 
peak,  three  of  us  leave  the  carriage,  strike  across  lots,  and 
endeavor  to  reach  it  on  foot. 

Put  not  your  trust  in  mountain  distances!  Before  I  get 
there  my  collar  has  gone  down  the  back  of  my  neck,  I  am 
breathing  like  an  asthmatic  locomotive,  and  m}^  feet  seem 
to  weigh  six  hundred  pounds  each. 

Furtwangen  is  a  small  city  (over  3,000  inhabitants),  but 
it  is  not  down  in  the  guide  books  and  it  has  no  city  ways. 
It  is  also  far  from  any  railroad  and  devoted  to  clock-mak- 
ing and  woodcarving.  All  the  inhabitants  study  the  latter 
and  I  visited  the  school  where  it  is  taught  and  saw  the 
youngsters  begin  on  carving  raised  diamonds  on  wooden 
plates,  and  the  advanced  classes  end  with  most  intricate  and 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  31 

beautiful  works  of  art  in  wood.  Outside  of  the  city  I  again 
tried  mountain  climbing;  it  is  disgusting  to  toil  up  a  couple 
of  thousand  feet  and  when  you  imagine  that  you  have 
achieved  something,  to  find  a  peasant  complacently  mowing 
or  raking  on  top.  They  cultivate  the  land  at  unheard-of 
heights  in  this  country.  I  imagine  that  they  plow  with 
balloons,  and  roll  the  harvest  over  the  precipices  into  the 
valley,  when  it  is  ripe. 

We  left  the  Black  Forest  at  Triberg,  and  in  the  most  dis- 
mal of  rainstorms.  All  these  charming  mountain  districts 
become  fearfully  dull  when  it  storms,  for  then  one  can  do 
nothiog  but  sit  in -doors  (or  ride  in  a  closed  carriage) ,  or 
play  billiards  on  tables  with  stony-hearted  cushions,  or  chat 
with  the  scheme  Kellnerin  in  the  Wirthschaft.  Even  the 
latter  resources  failed ,  for  when  the  fair  maiden  grew  con- 
fidential and  told  me  her  name  was  Gretchen ,  I  told  her  my 
name  was  Faust,  and  she  didn't  believe  me,  and  went  away. 
It  is  hopeless  to  joke  with  a  driver  here.  In  the  midst  of  a 
pouring  rain ,  our  Jehu ,  who  was  taking  us  to  Triberg,  pulled 
up  and  asked  if  we  wanted  to  see  the  waterfall!  I  told  him 
that  we  could  see  the  water  fall  very  readily  from  where  we 
sat;  and  he  responded  that  that  was  impossible,  for  we  would 
have  to  walk  ten  minutes  through  the  woods  before  it  came 
in  sight. 

The  Spanish  fleet  thou  canst  not  see 

Because — it  is  not  yet  in  sight. 

He  wore  cotton  wool  in  his  ears — all  the  drivers  wear 
cotton  wool  in  their  ears.  I  think  it  is  to  keep  their  brains 
from  evaporating.  Naturally ,  they  cannot  hear  very  well. 
I  told  my  driver  to  go  into  a  wayside  inn ,  where  we  stopped 
a  while,  and  take  a  glass  of  beer  at  my  expense;  he  took  a 
bottle  of  good  wine  and  charged  it  to  me.  But  even  good 
wine  does  not  cost  much ,  and  no  good  traveler  ought  to 
worry  over  the  small  extortions  of  travel.     With  ordinary 


32  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

care  the  entire  cheatings  of  a  long  trip  will  not  cost  much 
more  than  a  $10  bill  will  cover. 

How  lonely  one  feels  abroad  when  suddenly  separated  from 
traveling  companions!  I  have  a  distinct  fit  of  the  blues  as 
I  make  the  journey  towards  Saxony  alone,  while  the  quin- 
tette leave  the  forest  solitudes  for  the  activity  of  Paris.  But 
once  in  Leipsic  I  find  friends  again  and,  best  of  all,  plenty 
of  musical  companionship.  The  famous  old  spots  are  visited 
in  turn,  beginning  with  a  thirsty  trip  to  Auerbach's  Keller, 
made  immortal  by  Goethe  in  his  "  Faust."  To  those  who 
have  read  the  work  I  can  asseverate  that  no  great  band  of 
students  would  find  room  to  sing  in  its  quarters,  and  Me- 
phistopheles  would  have  been  scared  away  by  the  high  prices 
before  he  had  a  chance  to  sing  his  song.  But  it  looks  very 
ancient,  and  the  mural  paintings  look  old  enough  to  have 
been  done  by  Holbein.  A  pleasant  call  at  the  Leipsic  con- 
servatory followed,  and  I  met  Professor  Jadassohn,  who  is 
not  only  a  splendid  musician  and  composer,  but  a  witty  gen- 
tleman as  well.  His  definition  of  the  different  species  of 
composers  struck  me  as  epigrammatic.  He  said:  "  There 
are  two  species  of  renowned  composers  in  the  sea  of  music. 
Some  of  them  are  fishes,  and  some  have  learned  how  to  swim. 
Mozart  was  one  of  the  fishes."  Reinecke,  the  veteran  di- 
rector of  the  Gewandhaus  concerts  and  of  the  Conservatory, 
also  made  a  remark  which  will  bear  transcribing.  Speaking 
of  new  countries  and  their  growth  in  music,  he  said:  "The 
chief  trouble  is  that  they  inherit  too  soon  the  wealth  of  the 
older  countries .  They  receive  at  once  the  most  highly  spiced 
and  richly  developed  music  of  the  modern  masters,  instead 
of  growing  up  to  them  as  we  had  to  do."  He  feared  that 
this  would  militate  against  a  love  of  the  clearer  and  simpler 
masterpieces  of  art,  and  that  the  mind  beginning  with  the 
modern  school  would  never  duly  appreciate  Mozart  or  Haydn . 
He  is  very  liberal,  too,  this  Nestor  among  conductors,  and 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  33 

while  deprecating  the  vulgarities  of  Verdi,  recognized  the 
inspiration  of  parts  of  the  Requiem  and  of  the  quartette  in 
1 '  Rigoletto . ' '     This  may  astonish  many  of  the  lesser  musi- 
cians, who  deem  it  incumbent  to  kick  at  Verdi  at  least  once 
a  day.     Kapellmeister  Reinecke  in  himself  illustrates  the 
modestly  great  character  of  the  German  musicians  of  rank. 
He  has  no  tremendous  salary;  he  does  not  dictate  royal  terms 
for  every  appearance  of  himself  and  orchestra;  but  he  is  sin- 
cerely honored  by  every  one  in  Leipsic,  and  in  his  autograph 
album  are  letters  of  heartiest  recognition  from  Schumann 
and  Berlioz,  down  to  kings  and  queens.     It  is,  however, 
no  longer  a  combination  of  poverty  and  honor  for  the  mu- 
sicians in  German}^.     Mozart's  day  of  suffering  is  past.    An 
eminent  professor  at  Leipsic  told  me  that  the  high  prices 
paid  in  America  are  having  their  influence  in  Germany .    The 
great  institutions  find  that  if  they  wish  to  keep  the  musicians 
from  starting  for  the  New  "World,  they  must  give  pecuniary 
inducements  to  stay  in  the  Old.     I  had  some  charming 
glimpses  of  the  home  life  of  Kapellmeister  Reinecke,  as  he 
took  me  from  the  Conservatory  to  his  modest  quarters  in 
the  Quersfrasse,  somewhat  nearer  the  sky  than  some  of  our 
less  learned  native  composers  dwell.     A  number  of  charm- 
ing young  ladies  of  assorted  sizes  greeted  my  view  in  the 
drawing   room,  and  I  was  presented,  one  by  one,  to  the 
daughters  of  the  Kapellmeister.     Astounded  at  the  rather 
numerous  gathering,  I  ventured  to  ask  whether  any  had  es- 
caped, and  was  informed  that  some  of  them  had, — into  the 
bonds  of  wedlock .     The  sons ,  too ,  seemed  especially  bright , 
and  the  wit  and  badinage  around  the  dinner  table  was  some- 
thing long  to  be  remembered.     Reinecke  has  not  got  the 
American  fever  to  any  extent,  and  a  very  short  sojourn 
showed  me  why  he  is  not  anxious  to  change  his  position  for 
one  in  the  New  World.     It  is  true  that  he  has  not  a  salary 
such  as  our  directors  and  conductors  of  first  rank  obtain, 


34  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

but  on  every  side  were  tokens  of  friendship  and  homage 
from  the  greatest  men  and  women  of  Europe,  and  when,  the 
next  day,  he  took  me  to  his  Kneipe  near  the  Conservatory, 
I  noticed  that  every  one  in  Leipsic  took  off  his  hat  to  the 
simple  and  good  old  man;  every  one,  from  nobleman  to 
peasant.  It  counts  for  something  to  be  thus  honored  and 
beloved,  and  perhaps  a  few  thousand  dollars  would  not  com- 
pensate for  the  loss  of  such  friends.  How  kindly  and  pa- 
ternal Reinecke  is,  may  be  clearly  shown  by  relating  the 
origin  of  the  beautiful  violin  part  to  the  song  "  Spring 
Flowers."  He  had  composed  this  without  any  violin  obbli- 
gato  whatever,  and  it  was  to  be  sung  by  a  young  lady  at  her 
debut  in  a  Gewandhaus  concert.  The  evening  before  the 
concert  the  artist  came  with  a  decided  fit  of  the  "  nerves  " 
to  Reinecke's  home,  and  in  trembling  and  tears  expressed 
her  forebodings  for  the  debut  of  the  morrow.  The  good- 
hearted  composer  sat  down  to  think  matters  over,  and  then 
exclaimed,  "I  will  give  you  some  extra  support  for  the  voice 
so  that  you  cannot  fail,"  and  then  wrote  the  violin  part, 
which  is  so  tender  and  characteristic.  Immediate  rehearsal 
followed,  and  thanks  to  the  violin  support  and  the  goodness 
of  Reinecke,  the  debut  was  a  success.  And  at  the  Kneipe, 
too,  I  saw  how  much  of  contentment,  passing  riches,  there 
was  in  such  an  artistic  life,  for  here  in  the  corner  of  a  very 
modest  Wirthschaft  were  gathered  some  of  the  greatest  art- 
workers  of  Leipsic  (literature  and  painting  were  represented, 
as  well  as  music) ,  and  every  day  at  noon  they  met  and  spoke 
of  their  work,  their  hopes,  their  plans,  and  their  arts;  in 
such  an  atmosphere  the  plant  of  high  ideality  could  not  but 
thrive,  and  I  could  only  wish  that  we  might  some  da}T  have 
such  unostentatious  and  practical  gatherings  among  the 
artists  of  America. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  35 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Northward  to  kiel — the  north  sea  and  baltic — Copen- 
hagen  GADE    AND    THE    DANISH    STATE    CONSERVATORY 

AN    INTERVIEW    WITH    SVENDSEN MUSIC    AT   THE   TIVOLI 

A    CONVIVIAL    ARTIST'S    GATHERING SCHARWENKA,    DAHL 

AND    OTHERS A  DANGEROUS  BATH UNEXPECTED  FRIENDS. 


From  Leipsic  I  made  a  speedy  allegro  through  the  north . 
During  the  larger  part  of  this  trip  I  had  with  me  a  very- 
lively  cornet  player  from  Boston,  a  member  of  the  sym- 
phony orchestra,  and  a  very  genial  comrade.  We  had  a 
sudden  addition  to  our  party,  while  traveling  through  Ger- 
many. It  occurred  thus:  We  had  just  passed  the  Saxon 
frontier,  and  were  settling  down  to  smoke  and  meditation, 
when,  to  our  annoyance,  two  other  travelers  cnme  into  our 
compartment  to  claim  seats.  One  then  inquired  of  me  in 
German  which  was  little  short  of  barbaric,  if  the  train  went 
through  to  Hamburg.  Having  answered  in  German,  my 
answer  was  duly  translated  into  English  by  the  questioner  to 
his  companion.  "Those  fellows  wanted  to  have  the  entire 
train  to  themselves,"  said  one  of  the  newcomers  to  the  other. 
This  remark  was  not  translated  to  me .  After  a  silence  of  some 
minutes,  for  the  translations  to  and  fro  were  rather  arduous, 
one  of  the  strangers  began  to  get  hungry;  "ask  that  duffer 
if  we  are  ever  to  get  any  lunch , ' '  quoth  he ;  it  was  high  time , 
evidently,  to  arrange  amortus  vivendi  with  the  newly  arrived 


36  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

delegation  from  the  United  States;  therefore  I  suggested,  as 
a  relief  from  the  strain  of  thus  being  filtered  through  Ger- 
man into  English  and  back  again,  that  we  talk  in  the  United 
States  tongue  at  first  hand!  Tableau  of  joy  and  celestial 
happiness!  The  rescued  wanderers  were  from  the  west; 
they  were  railroad  men;  they  represented  the  Chicago,  Mil- 
waukee &  St.  Paul  railroad,  one  as  its  general  emigration 
agent,  the  other  as  its  European  agent,  their  names  were 
Powell  and  Norton,  and  they  were  in  for  any  missionary 
efforts  in  the  wickedest  capitals  of  Europe  that  we  might 
suggest.  They  agreed  to  join  our  caravan  as  far  as  Copen- 
hagen. Another  gentleman,  who  will  be  readily  recognized 
by  his  name — Mr.  Smith — had  also  agreed  to  go  the  northern 
route  with  us;  so  it  will  be  readily  seen  that  I  was  a  sort  of 
railway  "Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,"  whose  services  would  be 
of  enormous  value  to  Cook,  or  any  other  well  conducted 
tourist  office. 

Our  carriage,  after  the  advent  of  a  whole  American  rail- 
way company,  became  the  scene  of  a  prolonged  revelry. 
The  emigrant  (by  which  it  will  be  understood  that  I  mean 
the  gentlemanly  emigration  agent)  spoke  English  and  Welsh. 
The  latter  language  was  a  blessing  to  us,  for  by  it  we  over- 
came many  a  pompous  official.  If  we  came  to  a  custom 
house  where  the  officials  spoke  English,  French,  German, 
Danish,  Italian  and  Spanish,  we  would  send  forward  the 
emigrant,  who  would  address  them  calmly  and  serenely  in 
a  language  in  which  one  consonant  tumbled  over  the  other. 
No  hotel  porter  dared  withstand  this  master  stroke.  But  1 
grieve  to  say  that  a  disease  broke  out  in  the  party  during 
the  long  railway  journey  to  Hamburg.  It  was  not  cholera. 
It  was  kleptomania.  Our  trumpeter  (cornetist  aforesaid) 
and  the  emigrant,  were  suddenly  seized  with  a  vehement  de- 
sire for  relics  of  the  trip,  and  after  that  at  eveiy  station  a 
wild  rush  was  made  for  the  refreshment  counter.    Beer  was 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  37 

the  ostensible  motive,  but  alas!  after  leaving  each  station 
their  pockets  disgorged  matches,  match  boxes,  a  cracked 
beer  mug,  a  placard,  and  one  even  purloined  a  railway  illus- 
trated time  table.  During  that  devastating  ride  through 
Germany  our  car  became  more  and  more  like  a  bric-a-brac 
shop.  If  America  ever  comes  to  a  war  with  Germany  (which 
Heaven  forbid!)  I  should  suggest  to  our  government  to  en- 
gage our  party  as  raiders.  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea  wras 
nothing  to  our  advance  upon  Hamburg.  As  this  was  the 
only  time  in  my  life  that  I  became  a  relic  hunter,  I  hope 
that  my  depredations,  which  were  amply  paid  for  in  extra 
"  tips,"  may  be  forgiven. 

Arrived  at  the  Hamburger  Hof,a  hotel  which  is  as  grand 
as  a  castle,  and  has  a  splendid  view,  we  allowed  the  emigrant 
to  practice  Welsh  on  the  porter,  while  we  engaged  rooms, 
and  after  we  had  scrubbed  off  all  the  German  real  estate  ac- 
quired on  our  journey,  and  disposed  of  all  our  ill-gotten 
4 'relics,"  we  sat  down  to  a  champagne  supper,  in  which  the 
C,  M.  &  St.  P.  R.  R.  formally  expressed  its  joy  at  making 
our  acquaintance. 

When  the  traveler  strikes  the  continent  he  leaves  behind 
him  two  important  conveniences — gas  and  soap.  I  can  un- 
derstand why  the  continentals  don't  use  each  other's  soap, 
and  extend  them  my  sympathy;  but  why  they  should  build 
a  hotel  like  a  palace,  and  then  put  a  few  tallow  dips  in  a 
room  as  large  as  a  concert  hall,  passes  my  understanding. 
It  must  be  that  somebody  once  blew  the  gas  out,  and  they 
wouldn't  take  any  further  chances. 

The  next  day  our  goodly  company  started  for  Copen- 
hagen. The  journey  through  Altona  to  Kiel  was  of  a  gentler 
and  more  subdued  character  than  that  to  Hamburg,  and  the 
thirst  for  seizing  upon  movable  property  had  departed  from 
us.  At  Kiel  we  found  the  boat  in  which  we  were  to  brave 
the  raging  sea  to  be  a  very  small  ship  with  a  very  large 


38  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

captain .  At  first  the  voyage  bade  fair  to  be  a  prosperous 
one,  and  in  the  glee  of  a  misplaced  confidence  we  formed 
ourselves  into  a  male  quartette,  and,  taking  seats  upon  the 
paddle-box,  began  an  impromptu  concert.  In  the  midst  of 
our  singing  we  became  aware  of  a  series  of  violent  knock- 
ings  upon  the  paddle-box.  Thinking  that  possibly  some 
official  of  an  effete  monarchy  was  desirous  of  silencing  our 
warblings,  we  only  sang  the  louder.  It  was  now  "Good-by , 
sweetheart,"  that  we  were  mangling,  when,  just  as  we  had 
musically  announced  our  intention  of  never  leaving,  though 
we'd  said  "  Good-by,  sweetheart,  good-by,"  the  knocking 
burst  into  a  roar,  and  the  whole  paddle-box  arose  in  the  air 
in  a  shower  of  splinters.  We  concluded  to  retract  our  sen- 
timents and  leave.  We  left;  I  may  even  say  that  we  left 
rapidly.  We  all  thought  the  scenery  on  the  other  side  of 
the  boat  was  more  attractive.  The  boat  came  to  a  stand- 
still, and  an  examination  showed  that  some  rivets  had  be- 
come loosened  and  the  wheel  had  been  thrown  from  its 
bearings.  We  were  obliged  to  lay  to  for  three  hours  on  the 
Ostsee  in  a  heavy  swell.  There  was  nothing  to  do  in  the  in- 
interim  but  to  begin  to  fraternize  with  the  passengers.  But 
as  these  all  began  to  have  an  ominously  pale  look  and  clinch 
their  lips  strangely,  their  conversation  was  not  brilliant.  I 
had  watched  a  young  Frenchman  of  obese  tendencies  at  the 
table  d'hote  go  through  every  dish  on  the  table,  and  I  found 
a  few  moments'  relaxation  in  mentally  going  through  the 
bill  of  fare  backwards  and  checking  off  the  viands  as  he 
gave  them  up;  but  after  he  had  passed  the  soup  on  the 
return  journey,  even  that  amusement  failed  me.  I  was  then 
struck  with  a  happy  thought  and ,  borrowing  a  line  which  was 
on  board ,  I  philosophically  went  a-fishing.  As  the  net  result 
of  half  an  hour  was  one  misguided  "torsk"  (a  diminutive 
rock  cod),  I  gave  this  up,  too,  and  went  back  to  the  pas- 
sengers.     This  time  I  was  more  fortunate,  and   found  a 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  39 

young  lady  who  had  traveled  all  over  South  America,  and 
spoke  all  languages  except  Welsh,  so  I  had  no  fears  of  the 
irrepressible  emigrant  interrupting  our  conversation.  I  do 
not  intend  to  inflict  all  the  details  of  society  conversation 
upon  my  readers,  but  I  do  think  it  worth  while  to  record 
one  fact  that  I  was  informed  of,  which  is  that  the  wild  Ger- 
man youth  do  not  have  dime  novels,  but  indulge  in  reading 
translations  of  an  American  author — J.  Fenimore  Cooper. 
I  fear  that  our  adventurous  "small  boy"  would  find 
Cooper  rather  slow. 

Finally  the  wheel  was  repaired,  and  the  boat  proceeded  to 
its  destination — Korsor.  Here  we  took  a  railroad  for  Copen- 
hagen, whose  every  move  was  a  volcanic  eruption  and  an 
earthquake;  but  finally  we  arrived,  and  sought  hospitable 
beds  in  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  The  Danes  must  be  very 
ignorant.  They  spell  Copenhagen  Kjobenkavn!  Fancy  ask- 
ing a  party  of  young  ladies  to  join  in  a  game  of  Kjobenhavn! 
They  are  far  more  honest,  however,  than  the  southern 
Europeans  toward  the  tourist.  They  take  their '•  tips  "  regu- 
larly ,  but  with  perfect  frankness ,  and  without  any  sacrifice  of 
dignity.  I  experienced  this, when, on  my  arrival,!  asked  a 
gorgeous  creature  with  huge  side  whiskers  and  a  black  dress 
coat,  where  I  could  be  brushed  and  cleaned .  He  beckoned  me 
aside,  and,  taking  me  to  a  side  room,  dropped  on  his  knees. 
It  was  not  to  confess  that  he  had  embezzled  the  funds  of  a 
Danish  savings  bank,  or  to  say  that  he  was  the  traitorous 
ambassador  of  some  Norwegian  king;  it  was  simply  to  black 
my  boots;  The  operation  was  an  embarrassing  one;  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  receiving  a  shine  from  an  archbishop,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  I  could  bring  myself  to  give  him  a 
half  krone  (fourteen  cents)  which,  however,  he  took. 

In  the  evening  we  all  went  to  the  Tivoli.  This  is  one  of 
the  chief  sights  of  Copenhagen .  It  is  a  pleasure  ground  not 
unlike  the  Prater  at  Vienna,  but  smaller.     Every  kind  of 


40  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

amusement  is  going  on  within  its  limits,  from  whirligigs  to 
classical  concerts.  First  we  went  to  a  military  concert  here, 
where  we  sat  and  sipped  our  beer  in  sweet  content,  and  with- 
out even  feeling  a  desire  to  steal  the  beer  glass;  and  here  I 
had  my  first  encounter  with  the  Danish  language.  I  had 
been  carefully  preparing  myself  with  stock  phrases,  which 
I  was  ready  to  throw  out  easily  and  gracefully  at  any  Dane 
who  would  stand  them.  The  waiter  stood  them, but  I  can- 
not say  that  he  understood  them.  He  even  answered  back, 
as  if  it  were  my  business  to  understand  him.  He  finally  got 
me  so  snarled  up  that  I  didn't  understand  myself,  but  by 
expressive  pantomime  we  obtained  our  beer,  and  the  Rubi- 
con was  passed. 

I  am  not  going  to  describe  Thorwaldsen's  Museum,  where 
he  lies  at  rest  in  his  most  fitting  monument,  amidst  his  own 
works.  Any  artistic  reader  who  desires  to  know  more  about 
the  impressions  which  thrill  one  in  seeing  these  must  buy 
"  Baedecker's  Guide,"  and  get  seven  shillings  worth  of 
emotion . 

There  is  a  wonderful  steeple  in  Copenhagen.  The  steps 
which  lead  to  the  top  go  around  the  outside,  and  when  one 
gets  there  a  view  bursts  upon  the  beholder  which  em- 
braces all  Copenhagen  and  the'  surrounding  country,  and 
causes  him  to  thrill  with,  etc.,  etc.  (see guide  book  again  for 
further  details).  I  didn't  go  up.  But  I  did  see  the  great 
race  of  the  Year  at  the  suburb  of  Klampenborg.  It  was  suf- 
ficiently important  to  draw  horses  and  jockeys  from  Germany 
and  England,  and  naturally  drew  out  all  of  Denmark's  aris- 
tocracy. A  ride  of  an  hour,  and  then  a  walk  through  the 
most  beautiful  of  woods  (the  king's  deer  park) ,  brought  us 
to  the  race-course. 

The  crown  prince  and  family  were  there,  and  carriages 
innumerable,  as  at  an  English  Derby.  The  great  stakes 
were  won  by  a  German  horse,  quite  unexpectedly.     I  saw 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  41 

his  jockey  bold  him  back  until  past  the  quarter  pole  on  the 
home  stretch,  and  then,  with  the  grandest  possible  rush, 
pass  by  everything  and  come  in,  not  a  full  length  ahead. 
At  the  finish  (in  sporting  parlance)   a  blanket  could  have 
covered  them  all — if  it  had  been  large  enough.     The  crowd 
burst  forth  in  wild  "hurrahs,"  but  when  the  name  was 
announced  they  changed  these  to  hisses.     Why?     Because 
Denmark  cordially  detests  Germany,  and  remembers  Schles- 
wig-Holstein.     After  seeing  a  poorly  run  hurdle   race,  I 
went  down  to  the  fair  which  followed.     I  saw  a  Danish 
Punch  and  Judy.     I  did  not  fully  understand  the  dialogue, 
but  when  I  saw  a  gentleman  with  a  crown  seized  by  an  imp 
and  dragged  off,  I  knew  it  was  the  German  Emperor  being 
escorted    to   a    land   where   ulsters   are   unknown.      I   felt 
then   that   the    Danes  did    not  like   Germany.      The   fair 
was  like   all   other  European  peasant  gatherings — people 
dancing  in  a  heart-rending  manner  in  hot  sheds;  soldiers 
parading  with  pretty  sweethearts  and  smoking  cigars  that 
can  be  imagined  but  never  described;  booths  with  orches- 
tras, a  bass  tuba  and  a  cornet;  and  a  general  enjoyment  of 
everything  that  was  unenjoyable,  and  chatter  and  noise 
everywhere. 

Back  to  Copenhagen  after  this.  But  never  can  pen  of 
mine  describe  the  agonies  of  getting  back.  The  State  rail- 
road of  Denmark  was  unequal  to  the  task  of  transporting 
fifteen  thousand  people,  and  the  passengers  had  sometimes 
to  wait  two  hours  before  getting  a  train,  although  they  ran 
every  fifteen  minutes;  the  people  were  herded  together  like 
cattle,  and  admitted  to  the  cars  in  separate  droves.  Yet  all 
were  so  patient  and  uncomplaining  that  it  was  a  perfect 
revelation  to  an  American.  Not  a  word  or  a  murmur  was 
heard  from  even  women  who  stood  with  children  in  their 
arms.  Meanwhile,  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  &  St.  Paul  rail- 
road, in  the  person  of  its  accredited  representatives,  waxed 


42  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

wroth.  "  If  we  dared  to  do  anything  like  this,"  said  the 
European  (the  European  agent,  as  distinct  from  the  Emi- 
grant) ,  "the  people  would  mob  us,  and  they  would  be  right. 
This  comes  of  centuries  of  endurance  1  They'd  better  im- 
port an  American  railway,"  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  It  availed  nothing.  Completely  fagged  out,  we 
finally  reached  Copenhagen.  On  the  way,  I  had  a  question 
to  ask  of  the  conductor.  I  began,  "  Taler  er  Tisk?"  (Do 
you  speak  German?)  "  No,"  was  the  snarly  answer,  "and 
I  don't  want  to  learn."  I  begin  to  suspect  that  the  Danes 
don't  like  Germany.  On  the  way  home  I  was  suddenly 
aroused  from  my  lethargy.  I  smelt  a  smell.  It  was  a 
strong  smell.  One  that  was  richer  than  any  of  the  hun- 
dred smells  in  Cologne,  and  stronger  than  any  to  be  found 
in  Naples.  It  was  a  Danish  cheese  store.  They  have  very 
many  cheese  stores  here,  and  each  smells  worse  than  the 
other.  It  brought  back  to  memory  Shakespeare's  famous 
description  of  a  Copenhagen  cheese  factory — "  Something 
is  rotten  in  the  State  of  Denmark."  This  is  the  "some- 
thing "  referred  to,  and  the  description  is  quite  correct. 

Our  Copenhagen  experience  was  a  brilliant  and  varied 
one.  Our  emigrant  (the  aforesaid  emigration  agent  of  the 
Chicago,  Milwaukee  <fe  St.  Paul  railroad)  showered  down 
Welsh  and  English  in  terrible  combination  on  the  heads  of 
the  defenceless  Danes,  until  we  had  to  restrain  him.  One 
combat  was  particularly  ferocious.  We  had  been  tarrying 
at  the  beer  mug  in  a  Danish  "  Oltonnel,"  when  the  waiter, 
in  bringing  me  my  change,  gave  me  an  ore  among  the  silver. 
An  ore  is  a  mite  of  a  coin,  value  one-fourth  of  a  cent. 
The  emigrant  was  immediately  seized  with  a  desire  to  possess 
a  similar  trophy  of  the  cheapness  of  the  country.  He  made 
the  attempt  in  English.  "  Me  want  one  like  dat,"  he 
shouted,  imagining  that  mangled  English  would  be  reason- 
able Danish,  and  giving  the  waiter  a  silver  coin.      This 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  45 

intelligent  individual  took  the  coin,  and  presently  returned 
with — five  glasses  of  beer.  A  second  attempt  only  brought 
some  smaller  silver  and  a  two-ore  piece.  The  waiter  evi- 
dently could  not  understand  why  any  one  should  desire  to 
keep  an  ore  as  a  relic.  Then  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  & 
St.  Paul  railroad  arose  in  its  might.  Taking  out  a  well- 
filled  pocketbook,  the  emigrant  opened  it  before  the  kellner, 
and  cried — ' '  Put  in  here  1  Keepy  when  go  away ! ' '  and  held 
up  my  solitary  ore  in  the  other  hand.  The  waiter  looked 
on  with  awestruck  wonder.  He  evidently  thought  that  it 
was  a  great  American  railway  about  to  declare  a  dividend. 
I  gave  Mr.  Powell  the  ore,  but  that  did  not  prevent  him 
from  leaving  the  place  in  disgust. 

During  one  of  my  visits  to  Copenhagen  I  met  Gade,  the 
composer,  then  head  of  the  Royal  Danish  Conservatory.  He 
was  old  and  portly,  and  his  appearance  would  not  give 
a  clew  to  the  genius  within.  Short  of  stature,  round 
eyes,  ruddy  face,  and  bushy,  gray  hair,  with  a  manner 
in  which  joviality  and  impetuosity  were  combined,  Gade 
impressed  one  as  a  professor  of  the  old  school,  wrapped  up 
entirely  in  his  work  and  his  art.  He  took  me  over  the 
conservatory  spite  of  the  evidently  pressing  duties,  and 
explained  to  me  the  system,  also  inquiring  as  to  the  status 
of  teaching  in  the  United  States.  He  was  astounded  to 
hear  of  our  vast  conservatories,  and  of  the  progress  we 
were  making  in  music.  Of  our  composers  he  knew  very 
little.  He  wished  that  he  were  younger  that  he  might 
visit  America.  "  Now  I  must  wait  for  a  still  longer 
journey,"  said  he,  sighing.  The  good  old  man  has  since 
gone  on  that  journey,  dying  December  21,  1890.  He  has 
fought  the  good  fight  bravely,  and  fairly  outlived  those 
who   called   him  "  Mrs.  Mendelssohn."     He  was  very  busy 


44  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES 

then  with  the  final  examinations  of  the  school  year,  and 
showed  me  some  of  the  papers  with  evident  pride  in  the 
standing  of  his  classes  in  composition.  He  expressed  a 
wish  that  he  might  have  some  of  our  talented  Americans  to 
teach,  "but  they  all  go  to  Berlin  and  Munich,' '  he  added. 
I  now  went  to  see  Svendsen,  the  great  symphonic  com- 
poser of  the  north.  I  had  difficulty  at  the  outset,  for  the 
servant  told  me  that  he  was  out,  and  my  Danish  was  not 
equal  to  the  task  of  asking  when  he  would  return.  I  spoke 
to  her  in  German,  French,  Italian,  and  finally  in  English. 
The  latter  seemed  to  impress  her  deeply,  for  she  went  away, 
I  was  left  in  doubt  for  a  moment  as  to  whether  she  had 
taken  me  for  a  linguistic  book  agent,  and  had  gone  to  un- 
chain the  bulldog;  but  she  soon  reappeared  with  a  young 
lad}T.  Again  I  let  fly  the  various  European  tongues,  but 
she  interrupted  my  flow  of  polyglot  eloquence  by  saying, 
"you  can  speak  English;  I  am  an  American."  This  was 
Mrs.  Svendsen.  I  was  soon  in  a  comfortable  armchair  in 
an  elegant  music  room,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Kapell- 
meister. He  soon  came,  a  tall,  handsome,  genial  looking 
man,  with  wavy  blonde  hair,  looking  not  more  than  thirty 
years  of  age,  although  he  is  more  than  ten  years  older.  He 
gave  me  a  most  cordial  welcome,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  over 
fragrant  coffee  and  cigars,  we  were  conversing  about 
America  and  American  musicians.  Svendsen  has  been  in 
the  United  States  on  a  visit,  and  remembers  New  York 
and  Niagara  with  enthusiasm.  He  asked  after  many  of 
his  American  fellow  students,  and  also  after  some  of  his 
most  talented  American  pupils.  In  the  discussion  which 
followed,  regarding  woman  in  music,  he  expressed  the 
opinion  that  no  very  great  female  composer  would  ever 
arise.  He  thought  that  woman  was  receptive  but  not 
creative,  and  that  this  enabled  her  at  times  to  outstrip  man 
as  a  performer,  and  to  become  a  pianist  with  greater  ease, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  45 

but  militated  against  her  expressing  great  or  original 
thoughts  as  a  composer.  I  hope  that  my  fair  readers  of 
musical  tendencies  will  not  vow  vengeance  on  Svendsen  for 
this  sentiment.  Svendsen  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  great 
orchestral  conductors  of  the  world.  He  showed  me  two 
trophies  of  his  work  in  this  direction ,  both  gifts  of  admirers. 
One  was  a  gold  and  ebony  baton  of  exquisite  workmanship, 
a  gift  from  ladies  in  Christiania,  the  other  a  quainter  one 
of  ivory,  made  especially  valuable  by  the  autograph  of  the 
former  owner  upon  it — "Carl  Maria  von  "Weber." 

A  pleasant  half-hour  of  study  of  the  composer's  recent 
orchestral  scores  followed,  during  which  he  explained  to 
me  the  intention  of  many  of  his  effects  of  instrumentation . 
I  was  especially  struck  with  the  wealth  of  fancy  displayed 
in  his  "Zorahaide,"  a  Spanish  tone  picture  in  which  he  has 
caught  the  true  Spanish  and  Moorish  spirit,  although  he 
has  never  been  in  Spain.  The  subject  is  taken  from  Wash- 
ington Irving. 

The  day  was  now  far  spent,  and  Svendsen  suggested  that 
we  should  go  together  in  the  evening  and  hear  the  Brahms 
(third)  Symphony,  and  promised  to  make  me  acquainted 
with  such  musical  lights  as  should  be  at  the  concert.  In 
the  meantime,  as  I  felt  that  during  my  travels  I  had  acquired 
considerable  Danish  real  estate,  I  thought  I  would  seek  a 
warm  bath  and  scrub  it  off .  I  wandered  around,  but  found 
no  Danish  words  on  any  sign  that  could  be  tortured  into 
meaning  warm  baths.  Finally  I  went  into  a  small  hotel 
and  in  desperation  asked  for  the  means  of  becoming  a  next 
door  neighbor  to  godliness.  They  had  a  bath  on  the  third 
story,  and  I  proceeded  thither  in  company  with  the  haus- 
knecht,  who  showed  me  into  a  rather  dingy  room  which 
evidently  had  not  been  used  recently.  There  was  in  one 
corner  a  boiler  somewhat  like  that  of  a  piledriver,  (with  a 
thermometer  riveted  to  it) ,  from  which  pipes  ran  to  the  tub. 


46  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

The  young  man  kindled  a  wood  fire  under  the  boiler,  and 
told  me,  in  broken  German,  to  let  on  the  water  when  it  got 
hot  enough .  I  disrobed  and  waited .  I  let  on  one  faucet — it 
was  cold.  I  let  on  the  other — it  was  frigid.  I  waited  ten 
minutes  and  tried  again — same  result.  I  now  found  that 
if  the  water  wasn't  hot  the  room  decidedly  was,  and  on  ap- 
proaching the  boiler  my  hair  stood  on  end  to  find  the 
thermometer  registering  somewhere  in  the  thousands,  and 
the  lower  part  of  the  iron  work  in  a  dull  red  glow.  The 
water  was  still  cold.  On  second  thoughts  I  felt  that  there 
was  really  no  necessity  to  take  a  bath .  I  concluded  to  dress . 
I  was  somewhat  hastened  in  my  toilet  by  the  thermometer 
cracking  and  dropping  at  my  feet,  and  by  sundry  ominous 
reports  from  the  interior  of  the  pile  driver  aforesaid.  Under 
the  circumstances,  I  thought  a  shirt  and  a  pair  of  trousers 
quite  an  elaborate  toilet  for  a  bathroom  reception ,  and  pre- 
pared to  ring  the  bell.  There  was  no  bell!  A  glance  at 
the  sparks  beginning  to  fly  from  the  piledriver  convinced 
me  that  I  was  in  sufficiently  full  dress  for  even  a  corridor 
reception.  I  took  my  shoes  in  my  hand,  as  I  had  heard 
that  it  was  the  custom  in  the  east  not  to  wear  shoes  on  state 
occasions.  I  found  a  bell,  and  soon  summoned  a  chamber- 
maid. There  was  no  occasion  for  any  Danish  remarks.  I 
showed  her  my  impromptu  display  of  pyrotechnics.  The 
effect  was  magical.  She  rushed  down  stairs  to  summon  the 
landlord  and  others  to  view  so  interesting  a  sight.  When 
they  arrived  a  blue  flame  had  begun  to  show  itself  at  the 
top  of  the  piledriver,  where  some  solder  was  melting.  A 
hurried  consultation  resulted  in  the  withdrawal  of  the  fires, 
and  a  wetting  down  of  the  woodwork.  Meanwhile  I  stood 
like  Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage,  only  my  costume 
was  more  picturesque  than  that  of  Marius.  An  interesting 
discussion  followed,  during  which  I  stated  that  I  wanted 
neither  a  cold  nor  a  Turkish  biath,  and  was  not  accustomed 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  47 

to  rooming  with  red-hot  piledrivers.  At  any  rate  it  was 
not  the  fault  of  my  broken  Danish  that  time,  for  investiga- 
tion showed  that  the  young  man  had  forgotten  to  put  any 
water  in  the  boiler  before  lighting  the  fire,  whereupon  he 
was  incontinently  discharged,  and  I  was  invited  to  take  a 
cold  bath  free.  But  I  felt  that  I  had  done  bathing  enough 
for  one  day,  so  I  sallied  forth  to  the  Tivoli  to  meet 
Svendsen . 

Our  seats  were  fortunately  together  in  the  little  concert 
room,  and  I  was  delighted  to  find  that  not  only  the, at  that 
time,  new  Brahms  Symphony  (No.  3)  was  to  be  performed, 
but  also  X.  Scharwenka  was  to  play  his  own  concerto.     The 
work    was   given   by  forty-five   performers   under   Baldwin 
Dahl,  a  good  conductor.     Scharwenka's  playing  was  of  the 
broadest,  most  massive  character.     He  seemed  at  times  to 
lose  himself  in  the  passions  excited  by  the  music,  but  gen- 
erally, also,  displayed  a  commendable  artistic  reserve.     I 
only  wish  that  he  had  had  an  American  piano  to  perform 
upon  instead  of  the  rather  muddy- toned  Danish  instrument. 
The  post-musical  proceedings  were  the  really  interesting 
ones.     Svendsen,  (I  do  not  call  him  Mr.  Svendsen  any  more 
than  I  would  call  Socrates  Mr.  Socrates — one  of  the  penal- 
ties of  greatness) ,  suggested  that  we  proceed  to  the  green- 
room together.     On  the  way  I  was  struck  with  the  deference 
paid  to  the  composer.     All  the  orchestral  performers  bowed 
to  the  earth  before  him,  and  every  man,  woman  and  child 
seemed  to  know  him.     We  found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Scharwenka 
quite  willing  to  supplement  the   concert  with  a  supper, 
alfresco,  and  soon  were  seated  around  a  hospitable  piece  of 
mahogany .     Xaver  Scharwenka  was  a  striking  contrast  to 
Svendsen.     He  was   also  strikingly  handsome,  but  there 
seemed  something  of  melancholy  in  his  piercing  black  eye, 
and  his  dark  face  seldom  smiled  heartily.     His  wit,  too, 
which  was  seemingly  inexhaustible,  was  at  times  cynical 
and  bitter. 


48  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Our  company  grew  apace.  First  came  Baldwin  Dahl, 
with  his  pretty  daughter,  a  charming  specimen  of  pink-and- 
white  Danish  loveliness;  then  came  a  pianist  from  Holland, 
Yan  Seii  by  name;  then  came  Mr.  Hamerick, brother  of  the 
well  known  Asgar  of  Baltimore.  I  cannot  remember  all 
who  were  present,  but  our  table  soon  had  nearly  twenty 
occupants . 

Only  the  artist  can  know  of  these  charming  hours  in  Bo- 
hemia. The  cosmopolitan  character  of  art  was  strikingly 
shown  in  the  number  of  nationalities  present.  Five  lan- 
guages were  spoken  at  that  table.  Our  first  toast,  therefore, 
was  "  patriotism,' '  and  we  drank  it  with  all  the  honors,  but 
when  the  patriotism  had  full  steam  on,  it  had  its  draw- 
backs. One  fair  Jutlander  refused  to  speak  German, could 
not  speak  English,  and  was  obliged  to  compromise  with  me 
bv  speaking  French.  But  I  cannot  describe  the  hilarity, 
the  bon  mots  and  the  verve  of  that  little  assembly,  and  when 
at  a  certain  hour  which  shall  be  nameless, we  separated,  I 
felt  that  I  had  found  the  musical  world  of  Copenhagen,  but 
that  it  was  not  Danish,  but  belonged,  as  art  should  do,  to 
every  country  and  people. 

The  next  day  we  started  for  Gothenburg,  in  Sweden.  I 
need  not  dwell  upon  the  passage  by  boat  to  that  city.  The 
chief  event  of  the  trip  was  that  the  trumpeter,  (our  cor- 
netist),  discovered  an  American  drink  on  board ,  which  was 
sold  under  the  mystical  name  of  Chery  Koplers!  "A  rose 
by  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet,"  and  a  sherry 
cobbler  in  Sweden  was  an  unexpected  event. 

Gothenburg  is  sure  to  produce  a  strange  impression  on 
the  traveler.  The  fact  is  that  it  is  a  "city  of  the  future." 
Its  rapid  growth  has  induced  capitalists  to  build  up  a  street 
of  palaces,  which  are  all  untenanted  as  yet.  This  street  is 
as  fine  in  its  way  as  that  finest  street  in  the  world — the 
Radial  Strasse  in  Pesth;  but,  seen  in  the  ghostly  twilight 
of  a  northern  summer  night,  it  produces  the  effect  of  being 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  49 

in  a  city  of  the  dead.  This  will  change  very  soon,  for 
Gothenburg  probably  is  destined  to  become  the  largest 
city  of  the  north. 

The  hotel  we  chose  in  this  city  was  the  "Gota-Kollare," 
because  if  any  of  our  party  got  lost  and  could  not  find 
their  way  back,  the  dreadful  inquiry,  "got  the  cholera?" 
would  be  near  enough  to  it  to  bring  us  safely  back  to  our 
hostelry.  I  had  to  study  Swedish  customs  at  once,  for  my 
bed  had  no  pillows,  and  an  enormous  hump,  like  a  camel, 
in  the  center.  I  remonstrated  gently,  but  firmly,  with  the 
maid,  and  told  her  that  to  sleep  on  such  a  hemisphere  would 
bring  on  curvature  of  the  spine.  She  uncovered  the  hump 
and  showed  me  the  pillows  architecturally  disposed  in  the 
center.  That  night  I  found  all  these  pillows,  and  more,  at 
the  head  of  the  bed,  the  chambermaid  having  evidently 
taken  the  notion  that  I  desired  to  sleep  standing,  or  very 
nearly  so.  My  room  was  not  cheerful.  It  had  a  tall  res- 
ervoir of  a  water  pitcher  near  my  head,  which  looked  like 
a  tombstone,  and  a  vast  tile  stove  some  ten  feet  high,  which 
resembled  a  monument.  So  I  naturally  dreamed  of  sleeping 
in  a  Swedish  cemetery,  and  read  "sacred  to  the  memory  of," 
etc.,  on  the  tile  stove. 

Speaking  of  that,  reminds  me  that  these  summer  nights 
are  severe  on  the  northern  ghosts.  They  have  to  do  all 
their  haunting  in  the  short  space  of  an  hour,  or  else  walk 
by  daylight,  for  it  is  light  at  11  p.  m.,  and  the  new  day 
begins  to  dawn  at  1  a.  m.,  or  earlier. 

From  Gothenburg  we  came  to  Christiania.  There  was 
but  one  train  a  day,  but  that  was  the  lightning  express. 
Lightning  moves  slow  in  Sweden.  So  does  the  express.  It 
has  one  convenience.  If  you  miss  the  train  you  can  run 
after  it  and  catch  it.  But  I  forgive  the  journey,  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  humored  guard  who  spoke  English,  joked 
back  at  all  our  fun,  and  smoked  our  bad  cigars  as  if  he 
liked  them, 


50  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER   V. 

TO     CHRISTIANIA A     NORWEGIAN     MEAL A     VISIT     TO     THE 

MINISTER    OF    STATE A    SONG    OF    THE    NORTH A    HALLING 

A    WILD    EXPRESS    TRAIN. 

The  midnight  sun  is  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  After  9p.m. 
it  has  a  washed-out  look  as  if  it  were  growing  pale  through 
keeping  such  late  hours.  The  railroad  system  of  the  north 
is  another  painful  disappointment  to  an  American.  We 
took  our  solitary,  daily  express  train  to  Christiania,  antici- 
pating some  degree  of  rapidity.  When  we  found  it  to  con- 
sist of  three  freight  cars  to  one  passenger  wagon,  we  had 
our  doubts.  When  it  stopped  between  two  stations  to 
allow  a  lady  to  get  off  who  had  forgotten  something,  we 
doubted  no  longer.  But  at  least  it  was  prolific  in  some  re- 
spects: it  gave  six  miles  of  shake  to  one  of  travel.  At 
twelve  o'clock  it  stopped  for  dinner,  for  the  Norwegian 
dines  at  midday.  The  dinner  was  a  revelation,  and  made 
some  atonement  for  the  difficulties  in  getting  at  it.  On  a 
sideboard  were  spread  out  sardines,  sausages,  omelette, 
sardelles,  eggs,  brown  biscuit,  mackerel,  caviare,  and  her- 
ring salad,  as  well  as  sweet  liqueurs,  and  burning  aqua  vital. 
This  was  not  the  dinner — only  the  preface.  We  were  to 
eat  and  drink  these  things  to  get  up  an  appetite;  after  that 
came  the  dinner,  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that  it  was  not  of 
the  same  relative  size,  otherwise  I  should  not  have  survived 
to  tell  the  tale.  It  is  said  that  these  restaurants  consider 
hospitality  a  duty,  and  make  no  effort  to  detain,  or  even 
remind,  a  traveler  who  goes  off  without  paying,  and  every 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES  51 

one  is  free  to  eat  according  to  his  appetite,  helping  himself 
always.  It  will  therefore  pay  the  American  tramp  to  go  to 
Norway. 

After  this  meal  I  no  longer  felt  so  disconsolate  at  the 
erratic  wanderings  of  the  train,  although  I  still  felt  ag- 
grieved at  the  efforts  of  the  engineer  to  dislocate  our  spines 
every  time  that  he  started  the  train.  I  suppose  I  must 
keep  to  my  recorded  vow  and  not  describe  the  scenery; 
nevertheless,  I  must  let  off  a  little  rapture  about  the  ap- 
proach to  Christiania.  The  fjord  is  beautiful  in  the  high- 
est degree .  Lovely  islands  of  deep  green  hue ,  among  which 
yachts  and  boats  twine  in  and  out;  heavily  wooded  banks, 
which  are  mirrored  in  the  water,  which  also  has  the  deepest 
green  color;  all  these  adjuncts  go  to  make  up  a  picture 
which  must  make  an  indelible  impression  on  every  traveler. 
But  the  fjords  to  the  north  make  a  deeper  impression  still, 
for  here  all  is  silence;  the  bustle  of  Christiania  fjord  is 
absent;  the  gloom  and  solitude  are  intensified ;  the  boatman 
is  taciturn,  and  it  ends  by  the  traveler  being  plunged  into 
a  profound  melancholy.  All  persons  who  travel  long  in 
Norway,  experience  a  touch  of  this  dreamy  sadness,  and 
only  recover  from  their  depression  of  spirits  when  they 
reach  a  city  again. 

I  must  speak  a  word  here  about  the  hospitality  of  the  Nor- 
wegian. Never  have  I  met  so  free-handed  and  open-hearted 
a  race .  They  vie  with  one  another  in  making  the  stranger 's 
lot  pleasant.  Before  I  arrived  in  Christiania,  for  example, 
I  made  the  traveling  acquaintance  of  Consul-General  Peter- 
sen, who,  on  learning  that  I  had  never  been  in  the  city  be- 
fore, made  me  promise  that  if  I  felt  dull  I  would  at  once 
seek  him  out  and  avail  myself  of  both  his  hospitality  and  his 
knowledge  of  the  city;  and  this  is  but  a  sample  of  the  kind- 
ness  I  experienced  from  the  people,  from  the  hands  of  the 
prime  minister  down  to  the  office  boy  of  the  Dagbladet,  the 


52  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

evening  journal  of  the  city.  But  as  I  had  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  residents  of  the  place,  I  soon  availed  n^-self  of 
the  opportunity  of  visiting  friends  and  enjoying  Norwegian 
home-life. 

My  first  visit  was  made  to  the  manager  of  the  great 
Aktien-Bryggeri,  the  great  brewery  of  the  north,  which 
exports  its  products  to  every  portion  of  the  globe.  I 
learned  here  a  fact  which  shows  how  commercial  extremes 
meet ;  Norway  is  in  the  closest  business  relation  with  Spain . 
Many  Norwegian  youths  go  to  Spain  for  their  commercial 
education,  and  almost  all  of  the  Norwegian  merchant  princes 
and  sea-captains  speak  Spanish. 

A  dinner  with  the  family  of  the  manager  aforesaid  fol- 
lowed, which  impressed  me  greatly  with  the  sweetness  and 
gentleness  of  the  manners  of  the  Norwegian  upper  classes , 
who  replace  the  French  polish  (which  exists  in  the  upper 
classes  of  southern  Europe)  with  a  naive  simplicity  which 
is  far  more  charming. 

I  was  received  at  the  home  of  the  prime  minister  of  Nor- 
way in  precisely  the  same  courteous,  genial  way.  It 
happened  in  the  following  manner:  My  host  who  had  been 
a  prominent  member  of  the  Conservative  party  of  Norway, 
yet  understood  that  an  American's  sympathies  would  be 
with  the  Liberals,  and  suggested  that  I  should  send  my 
card  to  the  celebrated  Liberal  minister  of  state — M.  Sverd- 
rup.  This  was  just  after  the  peaceful  revolution  which  had 
taken  the  veto  power  from  the  king  of  Norway.  "Upon 
the  hint  I  spake" — or  rather  called  at  the  office  of  the 
minister  of  state,  whom  I  found  an  old  man,  with  a  bright 
and  piercing  eye,  and  a  pleasant  although  wrinkled  face, 
surrounded  with  callers  on  political  matters,  and  evidently 
fatigued  with  the  legacy  of  unfinished  business  left  him  by 
his  predecessor.  He  regretted  that  his  time  did  not  allow 
of  long  conversation,  but  desired  me  to  call  again  on  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  53 

morrow.  But  that  evening  as  I  sat  at  supper  in  the  Hotel 
Victoria,  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  M.Cornelius  Lee, 
an  editor  of  the  Dagbladet,  who  informed  me  that  he  had 
heard  of  my  call  upon  the  minister;  that  it  would  never  do 
that  the  scope  of  the  Norwegian  liberal  movement  should 
be  misunderstood  in  America;  and  telling  me  that  the  prime 
minister  had  sent  a  dispatch  requesting  my  presence  at  his 
house,  a  few  miles  out  of  the  city,  and  that  the  carriage  was 
waiting;  in  a  few  moments  I  was  rolling  along  towards  the 
premier's  residence.  Outside  the  city,  with  the  fjord  lying 
tranquilly  below  our  feet,  and  the  rich  fragrance  from  the 
gardens  around  us,  I  awoke  to  the  glorious  beauty  of  Christi- 
ania.  But  soon  the  road  wound  in  among  cornfields,  and 
then  among  rocks  and  more  desolate  scenery,  and  I  began 
to  think  that  the  prime  minister  might  turn  out  to  be  a 
bandit  who  had  his  cave  in  some  hidden  fastness,  who  would 
seize  the  American  newspaper  correspondent  and  demand 
ransom  of  his  journals,  sending  my  ears,  nose,  fingers,  etc., 
in  separate  installments,  in  the  Italian  style.  My  fears 
were  soon  allayed  by  the  carriage  making  a  sudden  turn, 
going  up  a  short  avenue  of  trees,  and  then  halting  before  a 
beautifully  located  mansion  surrounded  by  gardens.  My 
hopes  were  somewhat  dashed  on  learning  that  important 
business  had  again  seized  the  prime  minister,  who  had,  how- 
ever, deputed  his  son  to  speak  ex  cathedra  with  me  upon 
Norwegian  politics.  The  home  of  the  great  statesman  of 
the  north  interested  me  greatly.  It  lay  on  an  eminence 
from  which  one  could  view  all  Christiania;  its  rooms  bore 
evidence  at  every  step  of  the  taste  and  life  of  the  distin- 
guished occupant.  On  the  walls  were  portraits  of  the  lead- 
ing diplomats  of  Europe,  all  of  them  gifts,  and  generally 
signed  with  the  autographs  of  the  originals.  A  bust  of 
Sverdrup  himself  graced  one  corner.  The  study  in  the 
second  story  was  filled  ^ith  books  in  many  languages,  for 


54  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

the  minister  is  familiar  with  almost  all  modern  tongues. 
M.  Jacob  Sverdrup,  the  son  of  the  premier,  is  himself  taking 
an  active  part  in  Norwegian  politics.  Although  young,  he 
was  Stadtrath  of  Christiania,  and  has  held  other  important 
political  positions. 

Seated  together  in  the  librar}',  over  some  excellent  sherry 
and  cigars,  he  gave  me  a  succinct  account  of  the  causes  which 
had  led  to  the  recent  constitutional  changes  in  Norway.  The 
king's  prerogatives  have  been  reduced  so  that  to-day  our 
president  has  far  more  power,  and,  during  all  the  crises  which 
led  to  this  bloodless  revolution,  the  eyes  of  Norway  have 
been  fixed  upon  the  United  States  as  the  model  which  they 
must  follow.  In  the  debates  in  the  Storthing,  as  also  even 
in  the  Reichstag  of  Sweden,  the  example  of  the  system  of 
our  country  and  of  its  success  has  been  frequently  cited. 
The  danger  of  our  republic  may  lie  in  this  very  fact.  An 
error  of  foreign  policy  would  give  a  certain  pretext  for  more 
despotic  governments  to  attempt  forcibly  to  cripple  a  na- 
tion which  gives  such  a  dangerous  lesson  to  oppressed  races. 
M.  Sverdrup  thought  that  the  ground  gained  by  the  liberal 
party  would  never  be  lost.  "Progress  never  recedes," 
said  he,  '*  if  it  is  allied  to  moderation." 

He  acknowledged  that  America  had  been  a  school  to  his 
father  and  himself,  and  showed  a  surprising  familiarity  with 
our  politics,  literature  and  men.  Lincoln  he  esteemed  es- 
pecially, and  he  was  persistent  in  inquiring  as  to  whether 
the  son  would  bear  the  mantle  of  his  father,  possibly  think- 
ing of  his  own  case,  and  why  he  had  not  come  forward  pro- 
minently in  the  politics  of  his  country.  He  knewBeecher, 
Ingersoll,  and  many  concerned  in  the  religious  and  political 
movements  of  our  country,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  some 
day  he  might  visit  us  and  in  a  series  of  lectures  explain  how 
closely  Scandinavia  and  America  should  be  natural  allies. 
After  this  conversation  a  pleasant  stroll  in  the  garden  fol- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  55 

lowed,  and  the  conversation  became  non-political .  I  was 
glad  to  learn,  however,  how  much  influence  the  liberal- 
minded  BjOrnstjerne  Bjornsen  exercises  in  Norway.  The 
very  fact  that  he  so  thoroughly  understands  American  insti- 
tutions adds  to  the  weight  of  his  influence  at  home.  Now 
followed  a  parting  "  Skole,"  and  I  took  my  departure.  A 
vivid  thunder  storm  enlivened  the  ride,  during  which  the 
driver  covered  the  entire  carriage  with  a  huge  rubber 
blanket,  so  that  I  rode  on  in  total  darkness,  only  hearing 
the  roar  of  the  elements,  and  alighted  at  the  hotel  in  a 
perfect  deluge. 

The  next  day,  although  it  was  not  public  day,  I  was  in- 
vited to  see  the  old  Viking  ship  which  had  recently  been 
brought  to  Christiania.  I  was  astonished  at  the  grace  and 
symmetry  of  its  model.  No  modern  boat  could  excel  it  in 
any  great  degree.  The  ship  is  in  excellent  preservation, 
and  much  of  the  Yiking  paraphernalia  is  also  preserved. 
The  large  soup  kettle,  the  beds,  the  shields  and  the  cruel 
spears  bring  one  vividly  back  to  the  heroes  sung  by  the 
poets.  To  my  mind,  they  were  not  heroes  at  all,  only  cour- 
ageous and  brutal  murderers,  and  one  honest,  patient,  blue- 
eyed,  flaxen-haired  Norwegian  of  the  present  is  worth  the 
whole  ancient  lot.  Seated  that  evening  by  the  fjord,  I 
mused  upon  the  contrast,  and  broke  uncontrollably  into 
rhyme,  as  follows: 

A   BONG  OF  THE   NORTH. 

In  ashen  twilight  of  the  north, 

In  murmured  rush  of  distant  streams, 

My  fancies  all  went  flying"  forth, 

And  I  lay  wrapt  in  waking*  dreams. 

Now  all  the  waters  of  the  fjord, 

And  all  the  hills  of  gloomy  green, 
Were  peopled  by  a  warlike  horde 

Of  sturdy  men  of  fearless  mien. 


56  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

I  saw  the  fatal  Viking's  fleet 

Sail  out  from  shore,  with  strident  cries; 

I  saw  the  slender  warships  meet, 
I  heard  the  din  of  battle  rise. 

And  then  the  past  lay  with  its  dead. 

Again  the  green  hills  came  in  view, 
But  now  there  stood  in  warriors'  stead 

A  smiling  group  with  eyes  of  blue. 

Their  only  war  was  with  the  soil, 

Loving  and  gentle  all  their  ways, 
They  lived  and  died  in  simple  toil, 

And  never  knew  the  poet's  praise. 

With  Viking's  laud  all  harps  have  rung, 
And  singers  chant  them  without  cease  j 

But  is  there  not  a  kinder  tongue 
To  sing  the  victories  of  peace? 

And  when  the  final  scroll  is  read, 

A  greater  one  than  that  of  fame, 
"Which  shall  stand  nearer  to  the  head — 

The  peasant's  or  the  Viking's  name? 

The  next  day,  after  the  perpetration  of  the  above  poem, 

I  left  Christiania  suddenly.  But  not  in  fear  of  any  dire  con- 
sequences; I  went  northward ,  for  M .  Sverdrup  had  informed 
me  of  a  "  Hailing  "  which  was  to  take  place  in  a  little  vil- 
lage some  fifteen  miles  from  the  city,  and  it  was  too  good 
an  opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with  the  music  of  the 
peasantry,  to  be  lost.  I  went  in  a  carriole,  which  is  a  cross 
between  a  hansom  cab  and  a  hurricane,  and  got  to  the  barn 
where  the  festival  was  to  be  held  much  quicker  than  if  I 
had  been  carried  thither  on  a  railroad  train — at  least  a  Nor- 
wegian one.     The  people  received  me  pleasantly,  for  the 

II  stranger  that  is  within  thy  gates  "  is  more  than  a  mere 
symbol  with  these  kind-hearted  souls ,  but  I  found  that  they 
were  becoming  shy  of  giving  vent  to  all  their  fun  in  the 
presence  of  an  unknown  party  from  across  seas.     My  card 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  57 

helped  matters  somewhat,  for  they  took  the  name  "Elson" 
for  a  mere  variation  of  "Olsen,"  and  as  my  appearance  did 
not  disprove  any  Norwegian  ancestry  they  might  attribute 
to  me,  I  was  gradually  passed  into  the  higher  degrees  of  their 
favor,  and  when  I  finally  sang  a  Swedish  song,  all  doubts 
vanished,  in  spite  of  my  innocence  of  the  language,  and  the 
hilarity  soon  reached  a  high  pitch,  aided  just  a  little,  I  sus- 
pect, by  the  presence  of  much  of  the  innocent-looking,  but 
decidedly  exciting,  aqua  vita. 

The  Hailing  is  a  peculiar  dance,  and  belongs  to  the  men 
only,  for  the  object  of  the  dancers  is  to  touch  the  over- 
hanging rafters  with  one  foot.  Such  kicking  would  have 
been  impossible  even  in  a  political  convention.  Wilder  and 
wilder  grew  the  music,  the  two  fiddlers  playing  with  con- 
stantly increasing  vehemence  as  the  dancers  threw  their  feet 
higher  and  higher,  and  the  applause,  the  stamping,  and  clap- 
ping, and  shouting  of  the  lookers-on  grew  more  emphatic 
every  second.  It  seemed  in  vain,  for  some  time,  however, 
and  one  by  one  the  dancers  gave  it  up ,  but  at  last  one  sturdy 
youth  reached  the  beam,  and  with  such  force,  too,  that  the 
dust  fairly  flew  around,  and  he  was  made  the  hero  of  the 
occasion ,  and  we  all  drank  ; '  Skole  "  ("  Good  Health  ' ')  to 
him.  The  music  to  all  this  was  very  wierd;  it  Was  in  2-4 
rhythm,  full  of  strong  accents,  and  accompanied  almost 
throughout  with  a  drone  bass.  Such  folk-dances  are  never 
vulgar,  they  are  too  characteristic  for  that,  and  Grieg  and 
Svendsen  have  done  well  in  perpetuating  such  rhythms  in 
their  classical  works,  where  my  musical  readers  ma}'  find 
them  without  much  search.  Even  the  Russian  composers, 
Rubinstein,  Tschaikowsky,  etc.,  have  introduced  a  first 
cousin  of  the  Hailing  into  their  symphonic  forms,  in  the  wild 
Kamarinskaia,  a  male  dance  of  like  character. 

But  one  could  not  listen  to  such  a  hurly-burly  forever, 
and  a  little  aqua  vita  went  a  long  way,  so  the  next  morning 


53  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

found  me  leaving  Norway.  I  again  took  the  same  sedate 
daily  express  train,  and  went  down  into  Sweden.  As  we 
wound  round  a  valley  I  was  much  interested  to  see  what  I 
thought  was  a  funeral  procession  coming  toward  us.  As  we 
came  nearer,  however,  I  saw  that  it  was  the  daily  express 
train  coming  up  the  line.  It  must  be  very  difficult  for  a 
Norwegian  train  to  keep  to  its  time-table,  as  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  avoid  getting  ahead  of  it.  But  the  engineers 
are  very  cautious  and  reliable.  They  have  a  terrible  legend, 
however,  of  a  wild  engineer  who  used  to  run  ahead  of  time 
and  once  nearly  had  a  frightful  accident.  A  man  fell  asleep 
with  his  leg  on  the  railroad  track,  when  this  engineer  and  his 
train  came  along.  The  sleeping  man  felt  something  pinch 
his  leg,  and  awakening  saw  that  it  was  the  express  train.  He 
then  got  off  the  track  in  time  to  save  himself.  Had  he  slept 
five  minutes  longer,  the  train  would  have  been  completely 
over  his  leg  and  broken  it.  The  engineer  was  blamed 
greatly ,  for  he  was  a  reckless  man ,  who  sometimes  ran  as  fast 
as  ten  miles  an  hour.  I  think,  however,  that  this  legend 
has  no  foundation  in  fact,  for  I  never  saw  a  Norwegian 
train  in  a  hurrv. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  59 


CHAPTER   VI. 

TO    SWEDEN STOCKHOLM SUMMER  MUSIC  IN  THE  FAR  NORTH 

THE     JOURNEY     SOUTHWARD A    CANAL    VOYAGE A    BOY 

ORCHESTRA A    PROUD    PORTER. 

Trolhattan,  in  Sweden,  is  one  of  the  prettiest  places 
along  the  northern  route.  Were  it  not  that  the  loveliest 
spots  along  the  river  are  defaced  by  numerous  sawmills,  I 
should  call  it  "grand."  But  the  charm  is  somewhat  de- 
stroyed when  one  finds  the  impetuously  dashing  water 
busily  engaged  in  slicing  wood,  and  finds  its  grandeur 
reckoned  at  so-and-so  many  horsepower.  It  is  but  another 
case 

"Where  every  prospect  pleases. 
And  only  [lumber] -man  is  vile." 

The  best  view  of  the  falls  is  obtained  from  a  neighboring 
height,  which,  however,  is  private  property,  and  to  which 
an  entrance  fee  is  charged.  After  my  experience  in  Switz- 
erland, where  almost  every  charm  of  nature  is  fenced  in 
and  retailed  at  so  much  per  charm,  this  did  not  seem  a  great 
hardship,  although  unusual  in  the  north,  and  I  toiled  up 
the  hill,  where  my  companion,  the  trumpeter,  at  once 
sought  immortality  by  cutting  his  initials  on  a  bench  which 
he  found  there,  while  I  endeavored  to  make  a  profit  on  my 
investment  of  half  a  krone  by  taking  two  krones'  worth  of 
gaze.  The  water  comes  down  in  a  manner  that  recalls 
Southey's  description  of  the  "Cataract  of  Lodore,"  and  one 
cannot  rid  one's  self  of  the  impression  that  such  a  rushing 


60  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

must  soon  exhaust  the  supply;  but  after  waiting  an  hour 
for  the  water  to  get  by,  I  concluded  that  it  would  run  on 
for  some  time  yet .  For  the  benefit  of  the  utilitarian ,  (whom 
I  despise),  I  will  say  that  these  falls  have  about  225,000 
horse  power.  There  are  plenty  of  "Devil's  cauldrons," 
"Devil's  holes,"  and  other  satanic  places  around  about,  and 
the  evil  one  evidently  did  much  of  his  domestic  baking  and 
boiling  about  Trollhattan.  Walking  back  through  the 
town,  we  passed  several  instances  of  the  endeavors  of  the 
inhabitants  to  entice  the  English  tourist  by  mangling  his 
mother  tongue.  One  sign  read  "shaving  house,"  and  I 
can  certify  that  the  mangling  inside  was  equal  to  that  with- 
out. I  found  a  touch  of  home  in  watching  a  game  of 
"hop-scotch"  among  the  village  children,  but  when  these 
all  made  me  pretty  bows  and  curtsies  at  the  end  of  the 
game,  the  resemblance  to  the  American  "small  boy"  ceased 
altogether.  Our  hotel  was  the  Railway  Hotel;  but  let  no 
misguided  reader  suppose  that  we  were  rendered  sleepless  on 
account  of  the  bustle  of  travel.  During  the  day  and  night 
we  stopped  here  we  saw  but  one  train,  and  even  that  came 
forward  in  a  shy  and  bashful  manner,  as  if  ashamed  of  dis- 
turbing our  tranquility.  Only  when  the  bill  came  in  were 
we  made  aware,  by  the  solid  charges,  that  we  were  at  a 
railway  hotel.  The  "Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade"  was 
not  a  circumstance  to  the  charges  of  Hanna  Andersen,  our 
blue-e}^ed  hostess. 

At  Trollhattan  we  took  the  canal  boat  for  Stockholm. 
It  is  a  long  journey,  as  the  GOta  canal,  (including  the  lakes) , 
is  260  miles  long,  and  if  Swedish  railroads  are  slow,  Swedish 
canal  boats  are  slower.  The  boat  on  which  we  embarked  was 
the  Wadstena,  and  I  shall  never  forget  what  a  floating  home 
she  became  to  me,  because  of  the  hospitality  of  Captain 
Julius  Ericsson,  who  took  me  under  his  wing  with  a  jovial 
kindness  that  cannot  be  found  any  where  outside  of  northern 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  61 

Europe.     I  also  found  a  hearty  comrade  in  a  young  German 
lieutenant,  Herr  von  Botzow,  of  Stettin.     This  gentleman, 
when  at  home,  is  an  Oberlandesgerichtsreferendar,  but  he  is 
young,  and  his  title  may  grow  longer  in  time.     I  have  said 
that  Captain  Ericsson  did  all  that  he  could  to  make  me 
comfortable,  but  he  could  not  hold  the  boat  quiet  on  the 
larger  lakes.     The  Gota  canal  is  a  queer  institution.     It 
moves  along  as  quietly  as  a  duck  pond  in  a  garden,  for  a 
while,  and  after  you  have  settled  down  to  a  solid  dolce  far 
niente,the  boat  suddenly  emerges  into  a  lake  a  hundred  miles 
long,  and  furious  in  proportion,  and  sadness,  sorrow, and 
seasickness  drive  out  all  thoughts  of  repose.     I  shall  always 
remember  Lake  Wenern,  during  the  passage  of  which  the 
boat  tried  to  turn  double  somersaults,  with  a  reasonable 
degree  of  success.     It  was  dinner  time  and  I  sought  the 
cabin ,  where  I  found  the  stewardess  plunged  in  despair  and 
sugar.     The  meal  had  been  spread  when  the  boat  struck  the 
lake,  which  struck  back  and  upset  the  arrangements — and 
the  table.      The   floor   was   strewn  with  a  substratum  of 
sugar,  upon  which  were  super-posed  portions  of  caviare, 
bread,  butter,  cake  and   other   comestibles.     It  called  to 
mind   the   interrupted    feast   of   Belshazzar,    and    various 
other  classical  and  scriptural  pictures  of  culinary  desolation, 
but  it  chiefly  brought  to  mind  the  fact  that  we  should  have 
no  dinner  until  the  lake  was  crossed — a  matter  of  some 
hours.     When  dinner  did  come  it  was  of  the  solid  Swedish 
type,  with  half  an  hour's  preparatory  exercise  upon  the 
viands  of  the  sideboard,  as  described  in  a  previous  chapter. 
Truly  the  Scandinavians  work  upon  the  French  motto — 
"L'appetit  vient  en  mangeant." 

Although  I  have  heard  many  people  abuse  the  mode  of 
travel  on  the  Gota  canal,  I  must  say  that  it  is  among 
the  pleasantest  of  my  northern  reminiscences;  and  to  a 
traveler  who  will  divest  himself  of  all  American  hurry ,  and 


62  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

who  desires  to  travel  right  through  the  heart  of  the  country, 
I  can  confidently  commend  it.  Many  were  the  pleasant 
customs  we  saw;  many  the  delightful  side  excursions  that 
we  made.  At  one  lock,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  flower 
garden,  some  Swedish  maids  came  out  and  bombarded  us 
with  dahlias  as  we  passed  through.  At  Yreka  we  walked  a 
few  miles  into  the  country  while  the  boat  was  receiving 
freight,  and  viewed  an  old  church  founded  in  the  twelfth 
century,  and  not  far  from  this  we  passed  an  old  ruin  which 
was  once  the  home  of  the  Douglases,  who  had  left  Scotland 
and  taken  service  with  the  Swedish  kings.  Of  this  castle  a 
legend  is  told  which  may  interest  Free  Masons.  During 
the  session  of  a  lodge  of  Masons  at  the  castle,  a  lady  was 
imprudent  enough  to  conceal  herself  and  listen  to  all  their 
secrets.  She  was  discovered  and  beheaded.  A  terrible 
denouement,  but  I  believe  it  is  not  the  only  instance  of  a  lady 
losing  her  head  when  she  had  an  important  secret  to  keep. 
"We  made  a  very  interesting  side  trip  on  foot  at  Soders- 
jOping.  The  Wadstena  had  to  go  through  several  locks 
here,  and  we  determined  to  see  the  town  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  We  also  desired  to  see  the  Tivoli  Garden,  in 
order  that  we  might  have  our  collection  of  Tivolis  com- 
plete. Our  advent  in  the  public  square  of  the  place  caused 
a  sensation.  1  had  inquired  our  way  of  some  of  the  inhab- 
itants,in  the  choicest  Bostonian  Swedish,without  eliciting  a 
satisfactory  reply,  and  the  concourse  about  us  were  evi- 
dently taking  an  interest  in  the  newest  thing  in  languages, 
and  trying  to  find  out  what  I  meant.  It  was  as  good  as 
playing  rebuses,  only  the  fun  was  all  on  one  side.  It  was 
not  on  our  side.  At  last  a  happy  thought  struck  Mr. 
Smith;  giving  a  tremulous  "tarantara"  he  began  playing 
an  imaginary  cornet;  our  trumpeter,  with  a  "boom, 
boom,"  started  a  bass  drum;  I  played  an  aerial  flute. 
This  object  lesson  was  not  thrown  away  upon  the  attentive 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  63 

audience.  They  thought  us  a  brass  band  in  search  of  an 
engagement,  and  took  us  to  the  Tivoli.  Lieutenant  Botzow 
and  myself  had  acquired  a  decided  hunger  in  our  wander- 
ing, and  ordered  a  light  meal.  This  is  what  they  brought 
us:  Radishes,  sardines,  sausages,  cheese,  schnapps,  oat 
cakes,  potatoes,  bread  and  butter,  onions  and  beefsteak. 
The  expense  was  one  krone — twenty-seven  cents .  A  pleasant 
summer  concert  in  the  open  air,  in  the  long  twilight  of  a 
northern  climate,  is  one  of  the  dreamiest  tastes  of  para- 
dise that  one  can  attain  on  this  mundane  sphere,  and  a 
mere  Tivoli  concert  becomes  as  enjoyable  as  a  symphonic 
one  when  the  beautiful  surroundings  are  taken  into  consid- 
eration . 

After  hearing  some  very  fair  music,  we  wended  our  way 
back  to  the  "  Wadstena,"  and  soon  were  again  steaming 
towards  Stockholm. 

I  cannot  descibe  the  enchantment  of  that  last  night  of  the 
trip.  The  canal  ran  through  heavily  shaded  parks  and 
wonderfully  romantic  groves.  The  moon  was  out  in  its  full 
glory  and  was  reflected  in  the  water,  on  which  not  a  ripple 
could  be  seen  save  the  broad  wave  made  by  our  own  boat. 
The  passengers  had  gone  to  rest;  only  the  captain  and  I  were 
on  the  upper  deck;  everything  breathed  tranquility  and  rest. 
It  was  Rosenthal's  picture  of  Elaine  (where  "  the  dead, 
steered  by  the  dumb,  went  upwards  with  the  tide  ")  trans- 
ferred to  a  living  canvas;  a  fitting  end  to  one  of  the  most 
peaceful  of  journeys .  The  next  morning  all  was  changed ;  we 
were  upon  Lake  Malaren,  and  approaching  Stockholm.  All 
was  activity  and  life.  Pleasant  country-seats  fringed  the 
sides  of  the  various  inlets.  Boats  of  all  kinds  dashed  past, 
some  gayly  decorated  with  banners.  Active  preparations 
for  a  regatta  were  being  made  at  one  of  the  suburbs,  and 
racing  }^achts  were  gathering  in  profusion ;  and  when ,  in  the 
bright,  cool  Sunday  morning  air,  we  heard  the  church  bells 


64  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

of  Sodertelge  ring  out  a  crisp  chime,  I  was  ready  to  believe 
that  I  was  a  special  correspondent  in  Fairyland,  and  that 
such  a  brilliant,  contented  scene  could  not  belong  to  earth. 
Several  peddlers  of  gingerbread  came  on  board  the  boat, 
however,  and  convinced  me  of  the  mundane  reality  of  the 
picture.  1  had  forgotten  to  state  that  previously,  on  the 
canal,  I  had  been  inveigled  into  the  meshes  of  a  lace  vender, 
and  had  bought  wonderful  Swedish  laces  (sealed  with  a 
seal,  too)  at  wonderfully  high  prices.  But  the  gingerbread 
was  still  more  wonderful.  So  was  the  dyspepsia  which  fol- 
lowed it.  But  here  we  were  at  Stockholm,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  bid  farewell  to  our  kindly  captain,  who,  however, 
told  me  that  he  should  look  me  up  in  the  town  after  I  had 
got  fairly  settled. 

Arrived  at  the  Hotel  Rydberg,  I  felt  that  it  was  a  duty 
which  I  owed  to  society  to  get  shaved;  and  stepping  out  of 
the  front  door,  I  found  what  promised  to  be  an  elegant  ton- 
sorial  establishment,  two  doors  to  the  left.  Seated  in  the 
barber's  chair,  with  the  memory  of  the  encounter  at  the 
Trollhattan  "  Shaving  House  "  still  before  me,  I  prepared 
to  submit  to  the  ordeal .  A  fair  maiden  of  some  sixteen  sum- 
mers stepped  forward,  and  to  her  I  expressed  the  desire  that 
she  would  send  her  father,  brother,  or  cousin,  to  torture  me. 
She  stepped  forward,  she  put  the  towel  under  my  neck.  I 
was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  a  young  and  handsome  fe- 
male barber !  There  was  no  escape !  Disregarding  my  blushes , 
she  took  hold  of  my  nose;  she  lifted  my  mustache,  she  prod- 
ded her  fingers  into  my  cheeks,  she  smiled  in  a  heavenly 
manner  all  the  time.  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  took,  I 
only  know  that  it  cost  four  cents,  and  that  when  I  recovered 
from  my  astonishment,  an  hour  afterwards,  I  wanted  to  go 
back  and  get  shaved  again.  I  took  a  bath  afterwards,  but 
when  I  saw  there  was  a  motherly-looking  lady  who  brought 
me  the  accessories,  I  barricaded  the  door,  as  I  felt  that  I  was 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  65 

not  quite  used  to  Stockholm  customs  yet,  and  didn't  know 
how  far  they  might  extend. 

Stockholm  impressed  me  as  being  topographically  some- 
what like  Geneva.  Its  division  by  water,  and  the  rows  of 
large  hotels  on  both  banks,  aid  this  resemblance  greatly;  but 
the  great  hills  and  the  vast  pleasure  parks  of  the  city  are 
totally  different  from  the  Swiss  metropolis.  The  English 
and  American  papers  at  the  hotel  were  a  perfect  godsend, 
for  I  had  seen  nothing  but  Swedish  papers  for  some  days, 
and  these  always  seemed  more  like  an  alphabet  in  a  fit  of 
delirium  tremens  than  anything  else .  I  went  with  Lieut .  von 
Botzow  to  see  guard-mounting  at  the  palace.  The  Swedish 
soldiers  did  not  seem  excessively  military  in  appearance, 
and  my  companion  often  snorted  out  his  disdain;  but  to  a 
German  officer  all  the  rest  of  the  world  seem  but  raw  recruits. 
After  that  we  went  to  the  National  Museum ,  one  of  the  finest 
(especially  in  the  department  of  antiquities)  and  certainly 
the  best  arranged  in  Europe.  I  studied  how  the  prehistoric 
man  prepared  his  corn,  cooked  his  coffee,  and  attended  his 
debating  society — with  a  stone  club.  I  feel  bound  to  state 
that  I  did  not  find  any  traces  of  the  rise  of  the  Italian  oper- 
atic chorus  among  the  relics  of  the  stone  age,  althoug;h  I  fully 
expected  to.  But  I  am  not  going  to  describe  the  museum. 
After  going  through  half  a  dozen  museums  one  is  ready 
to  acknowledge  that  the  ancients  knew  every  modern  im- 
provement. I  am  so  surfeited  with  European  museums  of  an- 
tiquities that  if  any  one  were  to  show  me  the  bicycle  used 
by  Homer,  or  Nero's  private  transmitter  in  the  consolidated 
Roman  telephone  compa*ny,I  should  not  wince  or  be  aston- 
ished. I  feel  in  entire  sympathy  with  the  little  boy  m 
"Punch"  who,  when  his  grandfather  promised  him  a 
reward  if  he  would  tell  him  what  pleased  him  most  in  the 
Crystal  Palace  World 's  Fair ,  instantly  replied ,  ' '  The  veal- 
and-'am  pies;  give  us  the  sixpence!" 


66  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

I  want  to  pay  a  New  Englander's  tribute  to  the  Swedish 
weather.  For  rapid*Lt}T  of  change,  for  highly  seasoned  con- 
trast, and  for  catching  one  unawares,  it  is  the  champion 
weather  of  the  world.  When  I  had  been  rained  upon,  dried 
in  the  sun,  smothered  with  dust,  and  again  wetted  down  in 
the  course  of  a  short  hour,  I  began  to  feel  at  home,  and 
thought  I  was  enjoying  a  beautiful  spring  day  in  Boston. 

One  consolation  is  denied  me.  I  cannot  watch  the 
fluctuations  of  the  thermometer,  for  the  Europeans  go  by 
the  Reaumur  system ,  and  when  I  am  baking  I  find  the  mer- 
cury only  at  28°,  and  when  I  feel  very  comfortable  I  find 
it  at  20°  and  know  that  I  ought  to  be  shivering. 

Stockholm  is  a  wild  and  giddy  town,  unfit  for  theological 
students  and  newspaper  correspondents .  It  has  cafes  enough 
to  give  one  apiece  to  every  inhabitant,  and  each  cafe  has  its 
own  brass  band;  consequently  the  effect  upon  a  Sunday  is 
as  if  one  had  dropped  into  a  circus  unawares.  One  of  the 
prettiest  of  the  pleasure  resorts,  and  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
city  too,  is  the  Strom-parterre,  a  neatly  -kept  little  peninsula, 
which  juts  out  into  the  green  waters  of  the  Saltsjon,  and 
affords  a  beautiful  view  of  the  city.  Here  I  heard  an  or- 
chestra which  was  unique  in  its  way.  It  numbered  some 
seventy  performers,  all  of  whom  were  small  boys.  It  was 
interesting  to  see  three  feet  of  humanity  tr}Ting  to  play  six 
feet  of  bass  fiddle,  and  to  find  the  big  drum  towering  high 
above  its  performer.  But  they  made  good  music  and  would 
make  the  fortune  of  an}r  manager  who  should  bring  them  to 
America  I  will  not  give  your  readers  an  inventory  of  all 
the  cafes  that  I  passed  (some  of  which  I  did  not  pass)  during 
the  first  day  of  my  stay  in  Stockholm.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
at  last  I  found  myself  in  the  Djiirgarten  at  Hasselbackers. 
This  dreadful  name  is  not  Swedish  for  "lockup."  It  is 
the  pleasure  park  par  excellence  of  Stockholm.  Seated  in 
the  open  air,  with  a  beautiful  view  spread  out  on  every  side, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  67 

the  Stockholmer  can  listen  to  excellent  music,  and  drink  his 
beer  or  coffee  at  the  same  time.  I  only  wish  that  any  words 
of  mine  could  impress  the  geniality,  the  respectability,  the 
sobriety  of  the  picture  upon  the  American  public.  Here 
are  entire  families  sitting  contentedly  in  the  pure,  fresh  air, 
taking  recreation  in  a  manner  which  all  can  afford,  and 
which  will  brighten  up  the  entire  week  of  labor.  They 
have  attended  to  their  religious  duties  in  the  morning,  the 
afternoon  is  given  to  this  absolute  rest .  There  is ,  of  course , 
no  trace  of  intoxication,  and  none  of  the  hurry  and  excite- 
ment of  an  American  excursion. 

Stockholm  is  absolutely  encircled  by  beautiful  suburbs. 
The  approach  to  most  of  these  is  by  water,  and  little  steam 
launches  carry  passengers  in  every  direction.  On  the  sec- 
ond day  of  my  stay  in  the  capital  I  made  a  ftying  trip  to 
some  of  these  in  company  with  some  gentlemen  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  neighborhood .  Captain  Ericsson  did  not 
forget  his  promise  to  look  me  up ,  for  on  my  return  from 
the  Djiirgarten  I  found  a  card  desiring  me  to  come  on 
board  the  Wadstena  the  next  morning  at  8:30  o'clock. 
Arriving  on  board  the  vessel,  I  found  my  noble  captain 
still  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus;  but  a  little  thundering  on  the 
door  of  his  stateroom  brought  him  out,  and  a  pleasant 
Swedish  greeting  and  a  matutinal  cup  of  fragrant  coffee 
followed,  duriug  which  the  plan  for  the  day  was  unfolded 
to  me .  It  was  that  we  should  board  a  neighboring  steamer 
and  go  down  to  Drottinghoim,  where  we  would  have  an 
opportunity  of  visiting  the  palace  of  King  Adolf  Frederic, 
and  meeting  other  friends  of  Captain  Ericsson. 

At  that  early  hour,  on  a  windy  Monday  morning,  it  was 
natural  that  few  passengers  should  be  aboard.  We  had  the 
ship  all  to  ourselves,  and  the  commander,  Captain  Erwits- 
son,  soon  joined  our  circle.  The  journey  to  Drottinghoim 
revealed  again  the  beauties  of  the  environs  of  Stockholm. 


68  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Daint}'  white  villas,  nestling  in  valleys  of  velvety  green, 
heavity  wooded  hills  that  seemed  primeval  in  their  solitude, 
and  the  foaming  green  waters,  wildly  driven  in  the  fresh 
and  healthy  breeze;  a  more  revivifying  entourage  it  would 
be  impossible  to  imagine.  But  this  breeze  had  its  effect 
elsewhere  than  upon  our  hearts,  and  when  we  arrived  a  wild 
cry  went  up — ' '  Breakfast! ' ' 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  we  had  recovered  our  calm- 
ness, and  started  for  the  palace.  First  we  came  (through 
grand  avenues  of  lofty  trees)  to  a  Chinese  pavilion.  This 
building  is  said  to  have  been  completed  in  a  single  night,  by 
Adolf  Frederic,  to  surprise  his  queen.  It  is  a  very  solid 
building  and  it  is  a  very  solid  story.  In  return  I  told  them 
the  story  of  George  Washington  and  his  little  hatchet,  and 
added  that  if  they  deceived  innocent  journalists  with  such 
"Aladdin's  lamp"  stories,  E.  E.  Morse  would  dwell  with 
them  after  I  had  gone.  It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  the 
palace.  I  have  visited  most  of  the  palaces  of  Europe,  and 
not  one  of  the  potentates  has  returned  my  call,  although  I 
generally  wrote  down  my  name  and  address  so  that  they 
might  know  where  to  find  me.  The  king's  family  was  out 
when  I  called  at  Drottingholm  palace,  but  perhaps  it  was 
wrong  for  me  to  visit  on  washing-day,  and  in  the  morning,  too ! 
Pleasanter  than  the  palace  was  a  cosey  sit-down  in  the  gar- 
den, where  we  were  joined  by  two  Norwegian  friends  and 
took  coffee.  You  will  observe  that  we  punctuated  our  trip 
with  many  of  these  pauses,  but  the  Scandinavian  eats  and 
drinks  anywhere,  and  the  climate  enables  him  to  stand  a 
strain  that  would  carry  off  a  New  York  alderman.  "We  all 
went  back  together  and ,  once  on  board  of  the  Wadstena 
again,  we  gathered  all  the  neighboring  sea  captains,  and  in 
glasses  of  a  truly  national  drink — Swedish  punch — we  drank 
our  parting  "skole." 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  69 

Swedish  punch  is  strong  enough  to  deserve  an  article  all 
by  itself.     It  has  a  sweet  and  gentle  taste. 

"Take  care!     Beware! 
Trust  it  not,  it  is  fooling  thee." 

I  left  the  party  betimes,  first  bidding  a  cordial  farewell 
to  captain  Ericsson,  than  whom  I  have  never  met  a  more 
hearty  companion  and  kindly  gentleman . 

The  next  day  I  started  on  a  long  and  tedious  journey  to 
Malmo  in  southern  Sweden.      Again  came  all  the  horrors 
of  railway  travel  at  the  pace  of  a  stagecoach,  but  here  at 
least  they  were  mitigated  by  excellent  railway  carriages. 
The  scenery  was  generally  flat  and  uninteresting,  and  time 
hung  heavy  on  my  hands.     Soon,  however,  an  intelligent 
fellow  traveler  entered  my  compartment  and  opened  con- 
versation with  me  in  German.     The  news  of  the  rescue  of 
a  party  of  arctic  explorers  had  made  some  sensation  in  the 
north,  and  our  chat  soon  turned  to  this  subject.     To  my 
surprise  the  gentleman  spoke  as  one  having  authority  in 
such  matters.     "You  Americans,"  said  he,4 'have  more 
bravery  than  any  other  of  the  explorers,  yet  your  expedi- 
tions do  not  always  bring  out  the  best  results.  .  There  is 
often  more  daring  than  calm,  scientific  research  in  them. 
But  you  have  given  some  information  about  the  northern 
botany,  and  I  hope  the  Greely  expedition  will  give  more." 
With  that  omniscience  which  belongs  to  a  journalist,  I  told 
him  that  the  northern  botany  must  be  very  insignificant 
indeed.     He  smiled  and — contradicted  me.     He  gave  me 
dozens  of  ten-syllabled  names  of  plants  that  grew  around 
the  arctic  circle,  until  I  began  to  think  that  the  north  pole 
must  be  a  sort  of  May  pole  gayly   festooned  with  flowers. 
Then  I  suggested  that  we  exchange  cards  to  facilitate  con- 
versation.    It  was  Professor  Berggren,  botanist  of  the  two 
great  Nordenskjold  expeditions .     After  that  I  gave  him  no 


70  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

further  hints  about  arctic  flora  or  fauna.  But  at  all  events, 
fate  had  sent  me  a  pleasant  compagnon  du  voyage  on  what 
promised  to  be  q,  most  tedious  journe}-,  for  Mr.  Smith  and 
my  trumpeter  had  gone  on  before  and  were  waiting  for  me 
in  Hamburg.  I  did  not  stay  in  Malmo  more  than  half  an 
hour,  and  therefore  will  not  write  a  full  description  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  inhabitants.  I  took  the  boat 
at  once  to  Copenhagen  and  was  soon  again  in  my  old 
quarters  in  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  In  Copenhagen  I 
found  the  thermometer  down  to  a  chilling  point,  Svendsen 
in  bed  with  a  severe  cold,  and  M.  Ovide  Musin  shivering 
through  Mendelssohn 's  violin  concerto  at  the  Ti voli .  To  add 
to  my  discomforts  I  had  a  delicious  bit  of  an  illustration  of 
the  beauties  of  the  tipping  system,  at  the  hotel.  During 
my  first  day  here  I  found  the  servants  most  obsequious. 
They  gave  me  the  title  of  "von"  Elson,  and  I  felt  that  I 
might  yet  rise  to  an  earldom,  if  I  behaved  myself  and  the 
small  coins  held  out.  Vanitasvanitatem,  omnia vanitas!  In 
an  evil  moment  I  had  left  the  hotel  in  a  hurry ,  in  the  early 
morning,  and  thus  had  tipped  only  the  night  porter  and  his 
subordinates.  The  day  porter  and  his  squad  had  been 
wounded  by  me  in  their  tenderest  point — the  pocket. 
Thenceforward  I  led  a  dual  existence.  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde  were  twins  in  comparison  with  the  difference  of  my 
estate  by  day  and  night.  If  I  came  in  at  night  I  had  a  re- 
ception of  high  degree;  the  night  porter  bowed  to  the 
earth,  and  his  minions  addressed  me  in  humble  tones  by 
noble  titles.  But,  alas!  when  day  came  all  was  changed. 
The  proud  day  porter  belonged  to  a  "stiff-necked  genera- 
tion" apparently  and  would  not  unbend  even  so  far  as  to 
nod  to  me.  His  followers  looked  at  me  with  scorn  and  re- 
proach in  their  glances,  as  if  to  say,  "This  is  the  man  whom 
we  took  for  a  nobleman,  and  who  has  turned  out  to  be  a 
pickpocket  and   has  robbed  us  of  our  tips."     Coleridge 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  71 

speaks  with  tremendous  power  of  "the  curse  of  a  dead 
man's  eye."  If  he  had  seen  the  glances  of  my  waiters  and 
porter,  he  would  have  changed  his  simile.  At  last  I  deter- 
mined to  make  good  my  omission,  if  only  to  see  the  effect 
upon  the  porter's  joints.  I  gave  him  a  krone.  Thence- 
forward all  was  well.  He  became  like  the  "proud  young 
porter,"  in  the  ballad  of  "LordBateman,"  and  almost  "fell 
on  bended  knee."  All  my  old  titles  were  restored  to  me 
and  new  ones  added,  but  they  were  only  Dead  Sea  fruit. 
How  could  I  believe  that  the  hireling  thought  me  a  count, 
when  but  the  day  before  he  had  held  me  of  no  account? 

The  above  is  "founded  on  fact,"  as  the  novelists  say, 
and  very  much  so.  It  shows  the  bane  of  the  system  of 
tipping,  and  also  to  the  servility  to  which  it  leads.  In 
Germany  the  latter  is  even  more  pronounced,  and  I  more 
than  once  had  to  pity  the  poor  wretches  who  have  positions 
beneath  these  flunkeys.  I  saw  one  waiter  cuff  a  refined 
looking  lad  who  was  late  in  bringing  a  dish,  through  no 
fault  of  his  own .  I  saw  this  insolence  and  brutality  on  one 
side,  and  absolute  humility  on  the  other,  extending  through 
almost  every  part,  and  in  almost  every  rank ,  of  the  empire, 
and  I  felt  glad  that  I  was  an  American,  and  that  at  home 
the  dignity  and  equality  of  man  was  recognized.  Better 
far  an  occasional  insolence  from  one  of  the  uneducated 
classes  than  such  a  general  stamping  out  of  self  respect. 
And  I  felt  the  more  sorry  when  I  thought  that  each  of  these 
abused  underlings  would  abuse  somebody  else  when  his 
turn  came. 

I  left  Copenhagen ,  and  my  now  affable  porter,  behind  and 
went  to  Kiel.  There  was  little  else  to  do  but  to  read 
the  Hamburg  paper  which  I  found  there.  A  Hamburg- 
newspaper  is  a  whole  library  in  itself.  It  has  about  seven- 
teen supplements,  and  as  many  of  them  run  back  for  a  week 
or  so,  they  equalize  matters  by  dating  the  evening  edition 


72  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

to-morrow  morning.  By  the  time  this  was  finished  I  was 
ready  to  take  the  train  for  Hamburg,  and  from  Hamburg  I 
started  on  my  pilgrimage  to  the  mecca  of  the  musician  of 
the  19th  century,  (or  at  least  this  end  of  it),  Bayreuth,  and 
the  performances  of  "Parsifal." 


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EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  73 


CHAPTER   VII. 

BAYREUTH A    SLEEPY    GERMAN    TOWN    BEFORE   THE  FESTIVAL 

A    VISIT    TO    MADAM   WAGNER THE  FIRST  PERFORMANCES 

OF      THE      FESTIVAL PARSIFAL DIE       MEISTERSINGER AN 

EVENING       AT        ANGERMANN's MIDNIGHT        REVELRIES A 

MEETING    WITH    THE    PRINCE     OF    HESSE A    RECEPTION    AT 

madam  wagner's. 

There  is  a  story  of  a  conductor  on  a  certain  slow  railroad 
demanding  a  ticket  from  an  old  man.  "Why,"  said  the 
ancient,  "I  gave  it  to  you  when  I  got  on  at  Ashtown  Junc- 
tion!" "Not  much,"  responded  the  conductor,  "there 
was  only  a  little  boy  got  aboard  the  train  there . ' '  "I  know  it , " 
said  the  old  man  with  a  sigh,  "I  was  that  little  boy ! "  I  used 
to  doubt  the  probability  of  that  story  but  after  my  ride  to 
Bayreuth  on  the  "post-zug"  I  doubt  no  more.  It  must 
have  happened  on  the  Royal  Bavarian  Railway.  The  in- 
habitants call  the  train  "der  Bummelzug,"  which  may  be 
freely  translated  as  "the  railway-bummer." 

Nevertheless,  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  anything 
that  happens  to  me  in  travel  after  the  great  and  elevating 
experience  of  the  Bayreuth  festival. 

The  frame  of  the  picture  was  not  less  interesting  than  the 
wonderful  festival  itself.  Fancy  a  small  German  city 
changed  in  a  night  from  a  sleepy  community  into  a  gather- 
ing-place of  the  highest  nobility  and  the  greatest  musicians 
Of  the  world.     The  approach  from  Hamburg  was  animated 


74  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

enough.  French,  Germans,  English,  Spanish,  Italians, and 
even  Turks  and  Russians  were  on  the  train,  all  having  one 
object  aud  one  sympathetic  bond.  The  tickets  for  the  first 
performance  of  ' '  Parsifal ' '  had  been  sold  out  weeks  before 
and  fancy  prices,  even  up  to  100  marks,  were  offered  for 
seats.  It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  this  enthusiasm 
expended  itself  more  spontaneously  (in  1888  and  1889)  on 
'  *  die  Meistersinger  ' '  than  on  ' '  Parsifal . ' '  The  latter  work 
is  certainly  a  great  one,  but  it  is  of  that  uncomfortable  order 
of  greatness  which  demands  considerable  intelligence  and 
study  on  the  part  of  the  auditor.  Hearing  it  for  the  fourth 
time,  I  only  begin  to  comprehend  the  vastness  of  its  ideas 
and  the  depth  of  its  expression.  How,  then,  can  one  ex- 
pect the  pilgrims  who  come  for  the  first  time  to  the  Wag- 
nerian shrine ,  to  glow  with  a  really  honest  fervor?  To  study 
Bayreuth  in  festival  time  is  to  study  nearly  all  of  the  greatest 
musical  celebrities  of  Europe. 

July  20th  the  town  was  still  in  its  normal  condition,  dull, 
sleepy  and  apathetic ;  but  early  on  the  next  morning 
matters  began  to  change  with  the  rapidity  of  a  fairy  trans- 
formation scene.  Train  after  train  came  in,  crowded  in 
every  compartment,  and  bearing  the  motliest  assemblage 
that  ever  a  caricaturist  could  dream  of.  Fat,  florid,  and 
bespectacled  men  jostled  against  lean,  long-haired  specimens 
of  the  genus  music  professor,  and  the  way  in  which  greet- 
ings and  kisses  were  interchanged  was  appalling  to  the 
American  eye. 

At  eight  in  the  evening  fresh  impetus  was  given  to  the 
growing  excitement  by  the  arrival  of  the  special  train  from 
Vienna,  bearing  a  vast  crowd  of  South  German  artists  and 
musicians.  Locomotive  decked  with  flowers,  and  flags  hang- 
ing over  some  of  the  carriages,  it  slowly  pushed  into  the 
immense  crowd  gathered  at  the  station  to  welcome  it.  As 
it  came  the  band  on  the  platform  began  "Gott  erhalte  Franz, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  75 

den  Kaiser,"  and  to  the  strains  of  the  Austrian  National 
hymn,  and  amid  wild  and  prolonged  cheering,  the  travelers 
stepped  into  the  crowded  streets.  Many  Americans  were  at 
the  station. 

Correspondents  from  all  over  the  world  were  there,  and 
anxiety  about  lodgings  grew  apace.  It  was  an  odd  spectacle 
to  find  princes  lodging  above  grocers'  shops  and  princesses 
coming  to  dwell  with  well-to-do  sausage  makers.  The  little 
city  was  full  of  hackmen ,  and  I  wondered  how  they  got  a 
living  m  ordinary  times .  The  mystery  was  soon  explained . 
Jumping  into  one  of  the  carriages  I  loftily  said,  "To  Villa 
Wahnfried!"  The  driver  looked  at  me  in  a  dazed  condition 
(no,  it  wasn't  bad  German !)  and  helplessly  asked,  "Where  is 
it?"  I  thought  it  strange  that  a  Bayreuth  hackman  should 
not  know  Wagner's  villa,  but  waived  the  question  and  said: 
"First  to  Herr  Apotheke  Meyer's,  435  Friedrichs-strasse," 
whereupon  my  charioteer  incontinently  weakened,  con- 
fessed that  he  knew  nothing  about  the  town,  but  had  come 
with  many  others  of  the  same  sort,  from  Nuremberg  to 
make  an  honest  penny  during  the  festival.  It  was  the 
blind  leading  the  blind!  We  wandered  together  through 
many  streets,  my  Jehu  drawing  up  at  almost  every  pedes- 
trian who  looked  native,  for  further  instructions.  It  was 
an  undignified  and  plebeian  sort  of  a  carriage  ramble,  and  I 
declined  to  seek  Villa  Wahnfried  after  we  had  found  my 
domicile  in  the  Friedrichs-strasse. 

It  was  a  great  delight  to  live  with  a  quiet  German  family 
during  the  rush  of  the  festival,  and  to  be  able  to  withdraw 
occasionally  from  the  bustle  of  publicity  into  the  cool  and 
neat  rooms  which  we  occupied.  I  use  "we"  no  longer  in 
the  oditorial  sense,  for  three  companions  joined  me  in  Bay- 
reuth, Messrs.  Geo.E.  Whiting  and  Carl  Faelten,  and  Miss 
Fanny  Paine,  were  these  musically  inclined  ones,  and  wel- 
come arrivals  they  were  to  the  somewhat  isolated  traveler. 


76  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

But  they  were  not  the  only  ones.  Mr.  Gericke  soon  put 
in  an  appearance  in  the  city,  then  Franz  Kneisel  and  Sve- 
censki;  then  came  Clayton  Johns,  Arthur  Foote,  and  Eliot 
Hubbard,  then  Otto  Floersheim,  of  New  York,  then  Misses 
Everest  and  Knox,  of  Philadelphia,  until  an  entire  American 
colony  was  formed.  You  may  imagine  that  a  jolly  Kneipe 
was  soon  arranged  at  Angermann's,  the  artists'  restaurant  oi 
the  city .  How  the  frenzy  of  anticipation  grew !  Eve^body 
was  fraternizing  with  ever3Tbody  else  the  next  morning;  beer 
was  being  poured  down  with  a  vigor  that  spoke  volumes 
for  the  irrigating  powers  of  Wagnerians.  Informal  recep- 
tions were  going  on  everywhere.  I  heard  my  name  called 
just  opposite  the  Golden  Anchor  Hotel.  On  looking  up, 
there  was  Materna  in  the  second  story  of  a  fruit  dealer's 
house,  holding  a  sort  of  sidewalk  levee  from  her  window. 
"I  won't  see  any  of  you  to-day,"  she  called  out,  "not  till  I 
have  finished  my  part  of  'Parsifal';"  but  none  the  less  half 
a  dozen  friends  kept  up  their  conversation  with  her  at  long 
range.  Many  were  disappointed  regarding  tickets  to  "Par- 
sifal." When  a  young  man  heard  that  I  had  an  extra  one 
which  I  would  sell  him  at  regular  rates,  he  embraced  me, 
(bother  that  continental  fashion),  and  almost  wept  for  joy. 
He  wanted  to  repeat  the  same  performance  in  the  theatre, 
but  I  would  allow  no  encores . 

I  put  in  part  of  the  morning  in  a  call  on  Mme.  Cosima 
Wagner.  I  scarcely  dared  hope  that  at  such  a  busy  time 
she  would  receive  me,  and  the  stately  butler  bore  out  this 
impression  by  sajnng:  "The  gracious  lady  may  perhaps  see 
you  next  Tuesday  evening ,  but  not  now ; ' '  but  took  in  my  let- 
ter and  a  greeting  from  Mr.EmilMahr,  our  Boston  violinist, 
and  almost  immediately  came  out  witli  an  invitation  for  me 
to  enter.  Through  a  fine  entrance  hall,  in  which  stood  a 
magnificent  piano  and  organ,  we  went  into  a  room  halt 
drawing-room,  half  boudoir,  in  which  sat  a  slim  and  graceful, 


FRAU    AMALIE    MATERNA, 

AS    KUNDRY    IN    "PARSIFAL,"    BAYREUTH,    l888 . 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  77 

but  not  beautiful,  lady,  writing.  She  arose  and  greeted  me 
with  cordiality,  and  in  a  few  moments  by  kindly  question 
and  unaffected  conversation  put  me  at  ease. 

I  have  said  that  she  was  not  beautiful ,  but  there  was  some- 
thing more  than  real  beauty  in  the  noble  face  and  expressive 
eyes,  that  kindled  with  loftier  light  when  she  spoke  of  the 
works  of  her  great  husband .   She  inquired  whether  the  Wag- 
nerian music  was  taking  root  in  America,  and  expressed  a 
dread  lest  it  should  become  merely  a  fashion .     "It  must  be 
explained,  it  must  not  be  misunderstood,  or  half  understood, 
she  said,  "and  then  it  will  grow."     She  spoke  of  America 
as  a  great  field  for  such  work,  and  hoped  that  it  might  be 
cultivated  properly.     She  was  delighted  when  I  told  her  of 
what  had  been  done  there  by  lecture  and  essay.     She  in- 
quired after  American  friends,  and    particularly  Mr.  B.  J. 
Lang,  and    was   interested   in    Mr.  Damrosch's    Wagnerian 
labors  among  us.     She  said  that  Mr.  Anton  Seidl,  of  New 
York,  was  a  worker  whose  labors  would  bear  fruit  for  the 
cause,  and  his  letters  to  her  gave  her  ground  to  hope  for  a 
spread  of  the  appreciation  of  her  husband's  music.     In  all 
the  interview,  while  never  becoming  excited,  she  impressed 
me  as  a  woman  who  is  terribly  in  earnest,  and  who  lives, 
like  the  great  Clara  Schumann,  to  glorify  her  husband's 
memory  and  fame.     She  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with  the 
number   of   rehearsals   which   had    preceded   the  festival. 
"We  have  been  at  work  steadily  for  three  weeks , "  said  she. 
"It  ought  to  have  been  six,  but  the  singers  could  not  leave 
their  theatrical  engagements .     It  is  true  that  many  of  them 
have  sung  'Parsifal'  before,  but  'Parsifal'  is  an  opera  that 
needs  to  be  studied  over  anew  every  time  it  is  performed. 
'Die  Meistersinger'  is  easier,  but  that  also  cannot  have  too 
much  rehearsal." 

She  then  asked  if  there  were  many  Americans  in  the  city. 
"Every  year  they  say  a  great  many  are  coming,  but  when 


78  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

one  counts  them  up  they  scarcely  number  a  score."  I 
hastened  to  assure  the  gracious  lady  that  I  knew  personally 
of  some  fifty  who  were  coming,  and  that  I  had  no  doubt 
the  number  would  reach  two  hundred  or  more,  at  which  she 
expressed  hearty  gratification,  as  also  at  the  fact  that  the 
nobility  were  coming  in  great  numbers.  "One  wants  the 
people,  but  it  is  gratifying  to  have  an  audience  of  excep- 
tional rank  on  such  an  exceptional  occasion."  She  hoped 
that  my  stay  would  be  prolonged  over  her  reception  evening 
on  the  following  Tuesday,  and  gave  me  apordial  invitation 
to  call  again  before  leaving  the  city. 

Our  conversation  was  in  German,  but  I  understand  that 
the  daughter  of  Liszt  has  all  the  linguistic  abilities  which 
her  father  so  richly  possessed.     The  resemblance  of  Madame 
Wagner  to  her  father,  Liszt,  was  more  marked  than  ever 
as  she  grew  animated.     Our  interview  soon  drew  to  a  close, 
as  both  of  us  had  to  prepare  for  the  festival.   A  short  visit 
to  the  grave  of  the  great  master  followed.     It  is  a  broad 
slab  of  stone,  simply  set  in  a  wide  mound,  which  is  covered 
with  ivy  and  is  at  the  rear  of  the  house — the  Villa  Wahn- 
friedo  I  recalled  a  visit  to  that  grave,  when  Madame  Wagner 
had  not  yet  taken  up  the  noble  mission  which  now  causes 
her  to  live  and  to  take  interest'in  life.    It  was  in  1883.   The 
sudden  death  of  her  beloved  husband  had  almost  destroyed 
her  reason.     She  had  cut  off  her  beautiful  long  tresses  (be- 
cause Wagner  had  admired  them)  and  placed  them  in  his 
coffin;  Liszt  had  come  to  Bayreuth,  but  she  refused  to  see 
him;  only  the  bo}r,  Siegfried,  because  he  was  the  favorite  of 
his  father,  was  suffered  to  approach  her;  and  every  day,  in 
rain  or  sunshine,  she  would  sit  two  hours  or  more  beside 
that  lonely  grave.     She  allowed  none  other  near  it,  and  it 
was  only  by  the  connivance  of  an  underling  that  I  was  finally 
able  to  visit  the  resting  place  of  the  greatest  composer  of 
his  epoch.     Now  all  this  has  changed,  and  the  imperial 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  79 

band,  by  coniniand  of  the  Kaiser,  played  a  dirge  there  dur- 
ing the  festival. 

And  now  for  the  opera!  Through  the  town,  past  the 
railway  station  and  up  the  hill  beyond,  we  drove,  and  there 
in  its  wealth  of  picturesque  surrounding  stood  the  large  but 
simple  building.  When  I  use  the  adjective  "large,"  it 
must  be  understood  to  apply  to  the  stage  rather  than  the 
auditorium.  The  latter  is  not  large,  but  every  comfort  is 
there  for  the  public,  and  every  facility  for  scenic  effect. 
The  orchestra  is  out  of  sight.  The  auditorium  is  very  plain, 
so  as  not  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  audience  from  the 
stage.  The  pitch  of  the  seats  is  at  such  a  steep  angle  that 
not  even  the  highest  hat  worn  by  a  fashionable  lady  could 
obstruct  the  view.  All  is  shrouded  in  utter  darkness  in  the 
front  part  of  the  house  during  the  performance,  every  ray 
of  light  being  concentrated  on  the  stage.  Applause  during 
any  part  of  the  opera  is  not  tolerated,  not  even  at  the  end 
of  acts,  but  rhapsodical  frenzy  may  be  indulged  in, ad  libi- 
tum, at  the  end  of  the  opera. 

Between  the  acts  the  entire  audience  files  out  of  the  thea- 
ter and  seeks  refreshments  in  the  beautiful  grounds  and 
lovely  walks  of  the  great  park  in  which  the  theater  stands. 
Those  who  are  not  ethereal  enough  to  live  on  mountain 
scenery  can  find  beer,  wine,  and  food  (if  they  can  capture  a 
waiter)  in  the  great  restaurant  belonging  to  the  place .  These 
are  necessary  precautions,  for  the  operas  begin  at  4  p.  m. 
and  last  until  10  or  10:30,  while  the  waits  between  the  acts 
range  from  thirty  to  sixty  minutes.  What  a  crush  outside 
the  theater!  Princes,  counts,  dukes,  musicians,  professors, 
peasants,  police,  waiters,  carriages,  celebrities  of  all  kinds, 
and  great  composers  are  as  plenty  as  blackberries  in  August. 
If  the  building  were  to  be  blown  up  during  the  perform- 
ance, there  would  be  very  little  music  made  in  the  world 
for  the  next  ten  years ,  and  half  the  conservatories  of  music 
would  have  to  put  up  their  shutters . 


80  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

And  what  a  set  of  artists  are  to  perform!  Even  the 
chorus  singers  to-day  are  great  artists,  the  very  smallest 
roles  being  taken  by  soloists  of  eminence  from  all  over 
Europe.  Every  performer  in  the  orchestra  is  a  great  solo 
artist.  Never  in  the  wide  world  was  there  such  a  gather- 
ing and  never,  except  at  Bayreuth,  can  it  be  again. 

The  lights  are  down,  and  amid  an  almost  painful  silence 
the  prelude  begins.  Comparisons  are  odious,  but  at  least  I 
(the  professional  fault  finder)  may  compare  Bayreuth  with 
Bayreuth;  the  "Parsifal"  of  one  festival  with  that  of  the 
other  festivals.  In  this  comparison,  I  find  Conductor  Mottl 
a  little  inclined  to  drawl  matters;  a  little  given  to  mis- 
take lack  of  spirit,  and  slowness,  for  majesty.  But  there 
are  no  actual  faults  to  be  found  when  one  considers  that 
44  Parsifal"  is  the  most  difficult  opera  ever  written,  and  that 
Bayreuth  is  probably  the  only  city  where  it  can  be  produced 
at  all. 

Just  a  shade  of  nervousness  is  apparent  in  the  opening 
notes ,  betrayed  by  a  slightly  flat  intonation ,  which  is  after- 
ward caught  by  Kundry  also,  possibly  from  the  holy  hermit 
Gurnemanz.  But  this  passes  away  very  soon, and  Materna 
becomes  what  she  has  been  in  the  previous  festivals — an 
ideal  Kundry.  When  Van  Dyck  enters  as  Parsifal,  all  are 
for  a  moment  anxious,  for  Winkelmann  has  always  sus- 
tained this  role,  and  grandly,  while  Van  Dyck  is  known  to 
sing  well  enough  in  Dutch  and  French,  but  can  he  fully 
succeed  in  a  German  role?  At  the  first  sentence,  "Gewiss! 
im  Fluge  treff  ich  was  fliegt,"  I  felt  a  cold  shiver,  for  it  was 
given  with  the  sharp  articulation  of  the  Berlin  tradesman. 
A  Berlinese  Parsifal  (a  character  akin  to  the  Saviour)  would 
be  a  holy  terror.  Fortunately  it  is  only  the  first  plunge, 
and  Parsifal  becomes  really  marvelous  in  the  hands  of  the 
great  singer  and  actor. 

Can  I  describe  the  scenic  effects  in  cold  type?  No;  that 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  81 

would  be  as  difficult  as  to  explain  Raphael's  "Fornarina" 
to  a  blind  man,  or  the  fifth  symphony  to  a  deaf  one.  The 
great  panoramas  of  the  walks  to  the  castle  in  the  first  and 
third  acts,  the  wonderful  processions  of  the  knights  and 
pages,  the  disappearance  of  Klingsor's  Castle,  the  changing 
of  the  tropical  garden  to  a  desert — all  these  and  more  can 
only  be  understood  and  marvelled  at  by  those  who  have 
seen  them. 

The  care  with  which  the  Wagnerian  traditions  were  pre- 
served may  be  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  the  bearer  of  the 
holy  grail  was  the  same  woman  who  was  chosen  by  Wagner 
years  ago  for  the  office  because  he  noticed  one  day  in 
Bayreuth  that  she  had  a  stately  walk .  This  may  also  serve 
to  show  Wagner's  care  in  all  details  of  stage  management. 

Yet  it  is  but  a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous, 
and  the  single  stride  and  pause  of  the  march  cf  the  knights 
seems  a  trifle  like  theatrical  pomposity,  while  the  lifting  up 
of  the  grail  and  its  suddenly  giving  forth  a  red  glow,  is  a 
rather  prosaic  effect  in  these  days  of  electric  lighting,  and 
suggests  frivolous  rather  than  deep  thoughts.  Yet  ridicule 
dare  not  find  a  place  here,  for  as  one  hears  the  motive  of 
pity,  broken  and  anguished,  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  ex- 
pressive of  Parsifal's  compassion  and  inability  to  express 
himself,  one  forgets  a  few  slightly  bombastic  effects  in  the 
true  greatness  of  the  whole. 

The  wonder  is,  too,  that  the  man  who  could  compose  so 
lofty  a  first  or  third  act  could  also  write  so  enticing ,  pas- 
sionate, and  sensuous  a  scene  as  the  second  act.  It  is  a  con- 
trast almost  unparalleled  in  the  domain  of  music.  Van 
Dyck  was  to  my  mind  very  great  in  this  latter  part,  and 
his  wild  cry  of  "Amfortas!"  as  Kundry  almost  succeeds  in 
her  temptation  was  thrilling  in  the  extreme.  Certainly 
Materna  and  Van  Dyck  shared  the  honors.  Strange  to  say, 
there  were  few  to  share.     I  had  never  seen  so  little  enthu- 


82  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

siasm  as  at  the  end  of  the  "Parsifal"  performance  in 
Bayreuth  in  1888.  In  later  years  poorer  performances  won 
much  greater  applause.  The  next  day  "  Die  Meistersinger  " 
made  amends  by  causing  an  absolute  furor.  I  attribute  the 
lack  of  enthusiasm  to  two  causes:  first,  the  performance, 
great  as  it  was,  was  not  quite  as  great  as  those  of  the  pre- 
ceding three  festivals,  .and  the  musicians  who  had  built  their 
hopes  higher  than  ever  felt  just  a  shade  disappointed; 
second,  those  who  saw  the  glory  of  the  work  and  the  per- 
formance for  the  first  time,  were  unaware  of  the  rigid  rule 
not  to  applaud  "Parsifal"  until  the  end  of  the  entire  piece, 
and  after  they  had  endeavored  to  applaud  at  the  end  of  the 
first  and  second  acts,  and  been  twice  sternly  repressed  with 
hisses,  they  did  not  dare  to  venture  on  any  further  display 
of  enthusiasm. 

At  the  end  of  the  performance  all  the  artists  rushed  to 
Angermann's.  Angermann's,  now,  akis!  no  more,  was  the 
tavern  where  all  the  Wagnerians  used  to  meet  after  the  per- 
formances in  the  old  days.  Beer  went  up  nearly  50  per  cent. 
(from  13  to  20  pfennige  per  glass)  and  went  down  yet  more 
rapidly,  while  a  babel  of  voices  in  half  a  dozen  different 
languages  were  yelling  their  comments  on  the  first  perfor- 
mance of  the  festival,  and  they-kept  on  commenting,  I  hear, 
until  the  witching  hour  of  6  A.  M.  Consequently  many 
musicians  were  seen  the  next  day  with  that  calm,  subdued? 
resigned  expression  which  indicates  either  Katzenjammer  or 
piety.     I  dont  believe  it  w7as  piety  ! 

The  second  day  found  us  climbing  up  the  hill  to  the 
theatre  again  to  hear  "  Die  Meistersinger."  To  me  "  The 
Mastersingers  of  Nuremberg  "  seems  the  very  best  of  Wag- 
ner's works,  and  the  greatest  opera  ever  written.  It  does 
not  bring  the  auditor  in  contact  with  gods  and  goddesses, 
but  presents  to  him  a  story  full  of  human  interest.     Its  auto- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  83 

biographical  style  (for  Walther  is  Wagner)  but  adds  to  this, 
and  the  fierce  and  grand  satire  of  it  all  is  worthy  of  Aris- 
tophanes. 

The  opera  gives  abundant  opportunity  for  stage  display 
(it  is  the  most  faithful  and  perfect  picture  of  life  in  the  16th 
centurj^) ,  and  as  the  Bayreuth  theatre  is  famous  for  this 
kind  of  thing  and  as  Richter  was  to  direct  the  music,  ex- 
pectation was  on  tiptoe. 

The  house  was  entirely  sold  out.  From  the  first  scene 
already  one  felt  that  the  masterwork  was  to  receive  a  master 
performance.  Let  me,  in  order  that  I  may  uninterruptedly 
sing  praises,  at  once  state  the  only  faults  that  took  place  in 
the  six  hour's  representation .  The  dispute  of  meistersingers 
at  the  end  of  the  first  act  was  out  of  tune,  sinking  almost  a 
semitone  below  the  orchestral  pitch;  the  riot-finale  of  the 
second  act  had  the  same  fault  (not  a  great  fault  in  this  scene, 
however) ;  the  prize  song  of  Walther  was  out  of  tune  with 
the  accompaniment  (Richter  was  right  and  the  singer, 
Gudehus,  was  wrong);  Pogner's  address  was  rather  lifeless; 
and,  finally,  the  curtain  did  not  go  up  promptly  after  the 
prelude  of  the  last  act,  and  one  heard  Richter 's  bass  voice 
shouting  from  the  pit  in  which  the  orchestra  is  concealed 
(sometimes  satirically  called  "the  Olympian  heights"), 
"Auf!  Auf!"  a  thing  which  does  not  often  occur  in  the 
Ba3rreuth  theatre. 

There!  the  fault-finding  part  of  Othello's  occupation's 
gone!  The  keenest  microscope  could  not  detect  another 
shortcoming  worthy  of  mention.  It  was  a  performance 
worth  traveling  across  the  ocean  to  see  and  hear;  it  was  the 
most  perfect  rendering  of  the  loftiest  work;  it  was  some- 
thing which  my  readers  must  take  on  faith,  for  no  pen  can 
describe  it.  Frau  Sucher  was  Eva,  while  Gudehus ,  although 
no  longer  in  his  first  youth,  made  a  brilliant  Walther  von 
Stolzing.     Hans  Sachs  was  performed  by  Reichmann  and 


84  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

with  all  the  hearty  German  humor  that  the  part  demanded. 
Ilofm tiller  was  David,  and  a  fine  one,  but  Beckmesser! 
glorious  Beckmesser!  in  whose  person  "Wagner  t}rpified  his 
own  enemies!  Friedrichs  made  a  triumph  in  this  part  with 
which  all  Bayreuth  rang  that  night  and  the  next  day. 

Spite  of  the  impossibility  of  the  task,  I  want  to  impart 
some  little  idea  of  the  wonders  of  the  performance  to  those 
who  skip  along  with  my  European  staccato.  The  scene  of 
the  second  act  is  a  narrow  street  in  Nuremburg;  one  of 
those  mediaeval  gassen,  in  which  the  houses  lean  over  and 
hob-nob  with  each  other  in  a  friendly  manner,  as  if  they 
w^ere  telling  each  other  stories  of  the  past.  In  New  York 
this  scene  was  given  in  a  street  almost  as  wide  as  Broadway, 
but  in  Bayreuth  the  proper  proportions  were  observed. 
The  riot  was  superb  in  its  effect  in  the  narrow  thorough- 
fare; the  whole  street  seemed  filled  with  a  struggling,  howl- 
ing mob. 

Meanwhile  in  each  of  the  houses  one  could  see  people 
getting  up,  window  after  window  was  opened,  and  in  vari- 
ous stages  of  dishabille,  people  looked  down  on  the  scene 
below.  The  watchman  did  not  attempt  to  sing  his  part,  but 
gave  it  in  the  unpolished  manner  in  which  Nuremberg 
watchmen  sang  the  hours.  His  horn  was  not  set  in  pitch 
with  the  orchestra,  but  was  purposely  in  a  key  of  its  own, 
so  as  not  to  give  a  musical,  but  a  realistic  effect.  These 
latter  are  slight  points,  but  they  serve  to  show  the  attention 
given  to  every  minor  detail. 

No  historian  could  have  made  the  great  scene  of  the  last 
act  more  truly  representative  of  its  epoch .  The  marching 
of  the  Guilds,  the  dance  of  the  apprentices,  with  its  won- 
derfully constructed  rhythm  of  seven-barred  phrases,  the 
entrance  of  the  singers,  the  costumes  of  the  vast  crowd, 
(every  one  in  the  great  chorus  being  a  solo  singer  or  concert 
vocalist  of  eminence),  and  to  crown  all,  the  magnificent 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  85 

painting  of  Nuremberg  in  the  background,  made  a  scene 
which  none  of  the  spectators  will  ever  forget.  Orchestral 
details  were  as  carefully  observed.  Natural  trumpets  were 
used  in  the  fanfares;  the  quaint  effect  of  the  muted  trumpets 
at  the  march  of  the  toymakers'  guild,  was  well  brought  out, 
and  the  shrill-toned  harp  with  steel  wires  was  used  to  ac- 
company Beckmesser's  ludicrous  solos. 

The  climax  of  the  last  act  was  simply  overwhelming.  I 
cannot  chronicle  every  perfection  of  the  performance,  but 
it  may  convey  some  idea  of  its  success  when  I  state  that 
absolute  frenzy  took  possession  of  the  audience  at  its  close . 
For  ten  minutes  hurrah  upon  hurrah,  waving  of  handker- 
chiefs and  general  tumult  proved  that  the  marvelous  per- 
formance and  the  grandeur  of  the  work  had  struck  home. 
Then  everybody  went  to  Angermann's — the  artistic  ren- 
dezvous for  beer  and  plebeian  food, — and  no  wonder;  for  six 
hours  there  had  been  little  but  music  poured  into  them. 
There  were,  to  be  sure,  two  restaurants  in  the  theatre 
grounds,  but  they  were  calculated  to  serve  about  fifty 
guests;  when,  therefore,  fifteen  hundred  appeared,  the 
mourners  were  somewhat  crowded.  You  have  often  read 
of  the  pleasures  of  the  chase;  there  was  plenty  of  excite- 
ment, but  very  little  pleasure,  in  chasing  those  Bayreuth 
waiters.  I  have  often  applauded  Mr.  Franz  Kneisel's  per- 
formances in  Boston,  but  never  did  I  appreciate  his  artistic 
worth  as  thoroughly  as  when,  after  the  second  act,  he 
plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  melee  and  emerged,  like  Venus 
from  the  sea,  bearing  five  sandwiches  and  four  glasses  of 
beer!  Decidedly  he  is  a  genius!  To  see  orchestral  directors 
take  up  the  role  of  waiters,  (many  of  them  were  obliged  to 
do  so  or  famish) ,  was  exhilarating.  "They  also  serve  who 
only  stand  and  wait." 

And  so,  at  the  end  of  it  all,  we  had  all  of  us  gravitated 
to  Angermann's  and  sat  in  the  little  vaulted  room  (in  the 


86  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

midst  of  an  atmosphere  that  could  have  been  cut  with  a 
knife)  on  boards,  beer  barrels,  anything  that  afforded  a 
roosting- place,  somewhat  crowded  but  supremely  happy. 
Let  not  any  strait-laced  New  Englander  imagine  that  we 
were  descending  the  social  scale.  At  the  particular  plank 
which  served  me  for  a  table,  there  sat  a  gray-haired,  florid- 
faced  individuality  named  Edward  Lassen,  a  certain  fat 
and  hearty  beer  connoisseur  named  Hans  Richter,  also  a 
near-sighted,  genial  ruler  named  Alexander,  Prince  of 
Hesse,  and  half  a  dozen  other  celebrities  and  highnesses. 
The  intoxicating  strains  of  Wagner's  music  had  been  ex- 
changed for  intoxicating  drains  of  Bayreuth  beer,  but  the 
company  was  still  the  same.  Mr.  Gericke,  Mr.  Kneisel, 
Mr.  Svecenski,  Arthur  Foote,  Clayton  Johns  and  a  lot  of 
Bostonians  soon  joined  our  party,  and  all  went  meriy  as  a 
marriage  bell. 

Now,  even  if  I  make  Mme.  Cosima  Wagner's  reception 
wait,  I  must  manage  to  convey  a  slight  idea  of  how  the  post- 
musical  exercises  went  on  at  this  bohemian  hostelry.  At 
about  12  o'clock  a  shout  went  up,  and  lo!  therewasMaterna 
coming  to  repose  on  her  laurels.  She  had  won  a  triumph 
as  Kundry .  By  an  odd  coincidence ,  the  name  of  the  hostess 
at  Angermann's  was  also  Kundry,  and  Kundry  No.  2  met 
Kundry  No.  1  at  the  door  with  a  foaming  beaker  of  beer, 
which  was  drank  to  the  health  of  the  company.  Then 
another  "  Hoch  !"  went  up,  and  behold  Beckmesser,  the 
successful, receiving  congratulations  from  all  around.  The 
charm  of  it  all  was  that  there  was  no  pretence  at  formality, 
no  effort  to  carry  around  any  top-heavy  dignity.  I  have 
spoken  of  the  Prince  of  Hesse;  let  me  take  him  as  an  ex- 
ample. I  did  not  know  that  he  was  a  prince  until  I  had 
chatted  with  him  about  half  an  hour;  when  I  found  it  out 
it  was  too  late  to  try  on  any  stately  behavior.  I  resisted 
the  temptation  to  tell  him  that  I  was  the  Duke  of  Oshkosh 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  87 

or  the  Marquis  of  Kalamazoo,  but  kept  my  character  as  a 
humble  American  citizen.  As  for  his  highness,  any  rich 
western  speculator  would  have  put  on  more  airs. 

Alas!  there  are  no  handbooks  of  etiquette  on  "How  to 
converse  with  a  prince,"  and  even  the  Baedecker  phrase- 
book  omits  this  necessary  chapter.  I  feared  to  ask  if  the 
prince  business  was  good  at  this  season,  and  he  did  not  once 
say  "By  my  halidome!"  as  the  princes  do  in  novels.  On 
the  contrary,  he  began  talking  very  quietly  and  most 
learnedly  on  music,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  one  of  the 
best-informed  gentlemen  I  had  ever  met.  A  more  intelli- 
gent Wagnerian  it  would  be  impossible  to  find.  He  was  a 
very  near-sighted  potentate,  and  I  suppose,  as  I  also  am 
nearly  as  blind  as  a  bat,  that  the  bond  of  myopia  drew  us 
together  somewhat. 

How  little  of  stuffy  dignity  and  pomp  there  was  in  the 
upper  circles  of  the  Bayreuth  gathering!  It  was  only  the 
bourgeoisie  who  tried  to  inflate  themselves  and  carry  as 
much  of  a  title  as  the  law  and  the  alphabet  would  allow. 
The  wife  of  an  assistant  sub-notary  would  not  abate  one 
jot  or  tittle  of  her  grandeur,  whatever  dukes  or  princes 
might  do.  If  I  were  to  write  out  the  titles  of. some  of 
these  as  given  in  the  "Fremdenblatt,"  I  should  cause  the 
printer  to  die  of  brain-fever. 

In  the  morning  Mr .  Kneisel  and  I  set  out  to  visit  Herr 
Richter.  His  number  in  the  Richard  Wagner  Strasse  was 
277  1-8.  I  did  not  know  into  how  many  fractions  a  house 
could  be  divided,  but  after  finding  277  1-2,  1-4,  1-5,  1-6 
and  1-7,1  felt  that  the  city  must  have  been  founded  by 
some  great  mathematician  who  wanted  to  enforce  an  arith- 
metical problem  on  everybody  searching  for  a  residence. 
Herr  Richter  was  out  when  we  called,  but  I  made  sure  that 
I  should  find  him  at  Madame  Wagner's  reception  in  the 
evening,  and  therefore  did  not  search   for  him  in  the  park 


88  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

where  he  had  gone  for  a  promenade,  according  to  the  state- 
ment of  the  servant  who  answered  the  bell;  but  as  the 
gathering  at  Angermann's  had  lasted  until  6  a.  m.,  perhaps 
11  o'clock  was  too  early  for  a  musical  call,  and  the  prome- 
nade a  social  fiction. 

At  noon  I  again  met  the  Prince  of  Hesse,  and  although 
not  formally  presented  (such  is  the  democracy  of  art) ,  we 
entered  into  a  comparison  of  notes  about  the  festival. 
Prince  Alexander  is  one  of  the  best  informed  Wagnerians 
even  in  this  stronghold.  He  told  me  that  the  great  march 
of  the  meistersingers  had  been  discovered  to  be  almost  iden- 
tical with  a  march  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  that  the 
most  rigid  study  of  "Die  Meistersinger"  only  led  him  to 
wonder  more  and  more  at  the  fidelity  with  which  every  de- 
tail of  mediaeval  life  had  been  followed.  He  inquired  after 
Mr.  Walter  Damrosch  and  the  success  of  his  Wagner  lec- 
tures, and  showed  great  interest  in  the  spread  of  the  cause 
in  America,  just  as  Madame  Wagner  had  done  two  days 
before. 

The  great  reception  was  given  on  Tuesday  night,  and  I 
can  assure  you  there  was  effort  enough  made  for  invitations. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  have  been  graciously  invited  by 
Mme.  Wagner  in  person.  Again  came  the  comical  affair 
with  the  alien  coachman;  after  hiring  him  I  had  to  show 
him  the  way  to  the  great  villa,  but  as  the  coach  looked  well 
and  the  butler  had  seen  me  before,  he  came  down  the  steps 
with  all  dignity  and  handed  me  out,  while  the  guards  and 
police  round  about  gave  me  a  military  salute .  For  a  moment 
I  felt  again  that  I  ought  to  put  at  least  "Earl  of  Kalamazoo" 
on  my  card,  but  again  fought  down  the  temptation.  I  will 
not  describe  the  general  appearance  of  the  villa,  which,  I 
believe,  is  generally  known  even  in  America,  but  I  may  say 
that  the  music  room  is  one  of  the  finest  imaginable,  and  in 
it  there  stand  an  American  piano  and  an  American  organ, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  89 

the  make  of  which  I  dare  not  mention,  lest  the  suspicion  of 
puffery  attach  to  my  chapters. 

To  the  right  of  this  was  the  dining  room,  in  which  a  co- 
pious collation  was  spread;  to  the  left  the  drawing  room 
boudoir,  spoken  of  already,  in  which  were  displayed  a  half 
dozen  silver  laurel  wreaths,  presented  to  the  dead  master. 
In  front  was  the  entrance  to  a  magnificent  library,  in  which 
Mme.  "Wagner  was  receiving  her  guests.  If  I  were  a  Jen- 
kins I  could  describe  to  you  all  the  toilettes  there  displayed; 
but,  alas,  I  do  not  know  a  gore  from  a  tuck,  a  flounce  from 
a  train,  or  a  Worth  costume  from  a  worthless  one.  Mme. 
Wagner  herself  was  in  black,  with  a  black  lace  headdress 
(against  which  her  gray  hair  stood  out  in  fine  contrast) , 
looking  very  noble  with  her  slim,  lithe  form,  and  her  aris- 
tocratic yet  genial  manner. 

She  greeted  me  cordially  and  accorded  me  the  honor  of  a 
few  moment's  especial  conversation,  which,  considering  the 
manifold  duties  pressing  upon  the  hostess  on  such  an  occa- 
sion, I  made  as  short  as  permissible. 

She  expressed  pleasure  that  some  American  Wagnerians 
were  present,  regret  that  Mr.  B.  J.  Lang,  and  her  especial 
friend,  Mrs.  Lang,  was  not  to  be  in  Bayreuth  this  season, 
and  the  con vential  invitations  for  me  to  return ,  to  feel  un- 
constrained in  Villa  "Wahnfried,  etc.  Spite  of  the  invita- 
tion ,  at  the  first  it  was  difficult  to  feel  unconstrained ,  for 
although  the  rooms  were  crowded,  none  of  my  friends  or 
acquaintances  had  yet  arrived,  and  I  put  my  foot  in  it  with 
characteristic  awkwardness  at  the  very  beginning.  A  solemn- 
faced  gentleman  had  taken  pity  on  the  friendless  one,  and 
began  an  animated  conversation  with  me.  As  the  subjects 
began  to  give  out  I  took  refuge  in  the  one  which  was  being 
universally  discussed — viz.,  the  success  of  Herr  Friedrichs 
as  Beckmesser  in  the  opera  of  the  day  before.  The  anima- 
tion seemed  to  ooze  out  of  the  conversation  at  this  point, 


90  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

and  as  I  thought  everything  had  been  pumped  dry,  I  bade 
adieu  to  the  part}',  and  gave  him  my  card.  He  said  sadly, 
"  I  have  no  card  with  me.  My  name  is  Kurrner  1  I  am  to 
play  '  Beckmesser  '  on  Thursday ! ! "  I  had  praised  Beck- 
messer  to  the  one  man  in  that  entire  assemblage  who  did  not 
want  to  hear  about  it! 

But  one  by  one  friends  and  acquaintances  began  to  ap- 
pear. Most  delightful  of  all,  there  was  a  little  Ameriean 
corner  in  that  drawing  room,  which  contained  Mrs.  J.  L. 
Gardner,  Arthur  Foote,  Clayton  Johns,  Eliot  Hubbard,  and 
a  few  others  who  were  strangers  to  me.  Here  we  talked 
our  native  tongue  and  compared  notes  a  little  while.  Then 
in  came  Materna,  resplendent  in  jewelry  and  smiles,  and  sa- 
luted me  with  cordial  greeting,  ' '  Griiss  Gott ,  lieber  Freuncl , ' ' 
and  began  chatting  of  America,  which  she  longs  to  see 
again.  Then  there  came  Van  Dyck,  the  glorious  Parsifal 
of  two  days  before,  who  was  introduced  to  me  by  Materna, 
and  who  to  my  astonishment  scarcely  spoke  German  at  all, 
but  began  conversation  with  me  in  French.  He  too,  so  he 
told  me,  had  had  some  overtures  from  American  managers, 
but  dreaded  the  trip,  and  feared  it  would  be  some  time  be- 
fore he  came  to  us.  Then  came  fat  and  burly  Richter  and 
began  a  long  tirade  against  the  sea,  sa}ring  that  he  would 
never  come  to  America  until  the  ocean  passage  was  abolished , 
he  was  so  afraid  of  its  dangers  and  its  peculiar  illness  (he 
resembles  Verdi  in  this),  and  then  he  sent  best  greetings 
again  to  his  friend  Emil  Mahr  in  Boston. 

Now  matters  began  to  mend;  even  Herr  Kurrner  smiled 
on  me  and  showed  that  I  had  not  struck  a  very  deep  wound, 
and  finally  there  came  the  Wagnerian  hero — Lamoureux — 
to  whom  I  bad  been  presented  the  previous  day,  and  beck- 
oned me  into  a  seat  for  a  quiet  chat.  He  is  short,  fat,  gray, 
wears  spectacles,  and  seems  a  type  of  the  genial,  good-hearted 
Frenchman.    He  speaks  no  German  and  only  four  words  of 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  91 

English.  He  has  fought  the  good  fight  for  Wagner  in  Paris, 
but  the  gamins  and  lower  classes  were  too  much  for  him, 
and  his  splendid  preparations  for  "Lohengrin"  at  the  Eden 
Theater  came  to  naught.  [Three  years  later  "  Lohengrin  " 
was  given  in  its  proper  home  in  Paris — the  Grand  Opera 
House.]  He  inquired  eagerly  about  America.  "  I  love  to 
travel,"  said  he,  "and  I  intend  sometime  to  go  there.  It's 
very  audacious  of  me,  when  one  thinks  of  the  number 
of  musicians  you  already  possess."  I -assured  him  that 
such  as  he  would  still  be  welcome,  and  said  that  I  con- 
sidered him  the  real  hero  of  the  evening,  since  only  he 
had  been  persecuted  for  Wagner's  sake.  I  asked  also  if  he 
intended  to  give  an y  more  Wagner  music  this  season.  "At 
almost  every  concert,"  he  responded,  and  then,  seeing  my 
gesture  of  surprise,  he  added,  "  it  seems  to  be  only  when 
costumes  are  added  that  Wagner  becomes  exciting  to  the 
French.  It  is  droll  but  true.  They  even  applaud  him  in 
concert.  Mais  sur  le  scene,  e'est  autre  chose!  As  for  me,  I 
make  music,  not  politics,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  Wagner 
should  be  pushed  into  the  field  of  politics.  Nevertheless, 
I  know  that  it  would  have  been  dangerous  for  me  to  have 
given  even  one  more  performance  of  'Lohengrin'."  I  com- 
plimented him  again  on  his  sturdiness  in  the  cause,  and  he, 
not  to  be  outdone,  complimented  my  French,  which  was  of 
the  kind  ascribed  by  Chaucer  to  the  abbess, 

"After  the  schoole  of  Stratteford-atte-Bowe 
For  French  of  Paris  was  to  her  unknowe!" 

I  again  met  the  Prince  of  Hesse,  who  was  as  musically 
instructive  as  before,  and  then  came  a  hush  in  the  conver- 
sation, and  they  began  to  make  music.  I  cannot  describe 
that  part  of  the  evening.  Herr  Scheidemantel  sang  Schu- 
bert's "  Sei  mir  Gegriisst  "  in  most  excellent  style,  giving 
each  strophe  a  different  expression ,  and  moderating  his  great 
baritone  perfectly  to  the  room.  Then  Miss  Fritzsch,  of  the 
Carlsruhe  Opera  House  sang  a  Liszt  number.     Then  Herr 


92  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Stavenhagen,  the  best  of  the  younger  pianists,  played  a  se- 
lection, and  then  Frau  Materna  obliterated  all  that  had  gone 
before  by  singing  the  finale  of  "Die  Gotterdammerung"  as 
I  have  never  heard  it  before.  She  was  inspired  by  the  sur- 
roundings, and  Herr  Mottl  himself  was  at  the  piano,  while 
Frau  Cosima  Wagner  turned  the  leaves.  It  was  a  fitting 
crown  to  that  glorious  evening,  and  soon  after  this  the  com- 
pany began  to  disperse,  many  of  them  returning  to  more 
plebeian  joys  at  Angermann's. 

The  above  is  an  account  of  the  season  when  "Die  Meister- 
singer  "  was  first  produced  in  Bayreuth;  it  is  none  the  less 
tj^pical  of  each  of  the  festivals,  which  have  now  departed 
from  their  biennial  character.  Both  before  and  since  the 
events  thus  recorded,  I  have  found  the  same  democracy  of 
art,  the  same  joyous  camaraderie,  the  same  excellence  of 
musical  work,  a  permanent  memorial  of  the  great  master. 


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EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  93 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Some  features  of  bayreuth — the  trip  to  munich — franz 

lachner nuremberg rheinberger wagner 's  first 

opera,  "  the  fairies. " 

It  was  Wagner  who  discovered  Bayreuth,  and  this  state- 
ment is  true  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  city  is  very  pretty 
in  itself,  and  that  it  was  known  in  some  degree  to  the  literati 
before  the  evolution  of  the  Wagnerian  opera,  as  the  place 
where  Jean  Paul  wrote  his  rather  sentimental  philosophic 
treatises.  I  have  already  intimated  that  when  there  is  no 
Wagnerian  festival  in  progress  the  city  is  as  out  of  season 
as  an  oyster  in  August.  Yet  the  pedestrian  can  find  scenery 
to  his  heart's  content,  and  possibly  might  call  its  chronic 
lethargy  a  ' '  heavenly  peace . ' '  The  park  of  Fantasie  is  a 
gem  in  its  way  and  the  Hermitage  is  a  charming  pleasure 
resort.  Memories  of  the  aforesaid  Jean  Paul  are  in  all  the 
surroundings,  and  a  statue  of  the  same  personage  graces  the 
public  square .  The  Wagner  theatre  is  just  out  of  the  town  on 
a  hill  from  which  one  can  view  beautiful  valle3Ts  stretching 
in  every  direction,  so  that  as  one  steps  from  the  building 
where  one  has  seen  the  choicest  representation  of  German 
legend  and  mythology,  one  seems  to  see  Germany  itself 
spread  out  at  one's  feet,  and  the  entire  scene  is  in  harmony 
with  the  thoughts  that  have  been  awakened.  Yet  not  the 
entire  scene;  the  large  restaurant  must  remain  an  exception, 
and  it  is  a  rapid  descent  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous 


9  i  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

to  come  fresh  from  the  struggle  of  Siegfried  with  the  dragon, 
and  then  enter  into  a  vehement  struggle  to  get  a  sausage;  to 
watch  the  flight  of  the  Walkyries  and  then  watch  the  still 
more  rapid  flight  of  the  waiters.  In  former  days  it  was  still 
worse.  It  is  but  a  few  }^ears  ago  that  half  of  the  Wagner- 
ites  were  obliged  to  go  beerless  and  sausageless,  and  I  have 
a  recollection  of  seeing  the  grand  duke  of  Saxe- Weimar  draw 
a  sandwich  from  his  pocket  and  eat  it  in  public  with  a  smile 
of  self-gratulation  at  his  foresight.  But  the  living  show 
outside  of  the  theatre  between  the  acts  is  something  that 
can  scarcely  be  described;  all  ranks,  all  nationalities  are 
there,  and  our  world  is  then  proved  to  be  a  very  small  place, 
for  one  is  sure  to  find  a  dozen  people  whom  one  last  met  a 
few  thousand  miles  awa}-.  The  din  of  many  languages  is  in 
itself  a  revelation,  and  one  comes  to  look  upon  the  theater 
as  a  modern  tower  of  Babel,  or  at  least  to  find  a  hidden 
meaning  in  the  placard  which  I  found  in  a  carriage  in  the 
city — "To  the  Theater,  or  to  the  lunatic  asylum,  2  marks!" 
Among  the  crowd  I  found  one  specimen  of  humanity  whom 
I  shall  never  forget;  he  wore  a  plum-colored  coat,  a  blue 
vest,  a  frilled  shirt,  his  hair  was  as  long  as  that  of  Ibsen,  his 
fingernails  were  of  most  imposing  growth,  and  his  com- 
plexion swartlrv.  Here,  thought  I,  is  an  Algerian,  or  a 
Turkish  pasha  come  to  worship  at  the  Wagnerian  shrine, 
and  when  I  met  him  at  Angermann's  I  sought  his  acquaint- 
ance with  avidity.  Alas  for  the  frailty  of  human  hopes! 
The  man  was  simply  the  critic  of  a  Paris  journal.  A  musi- 
cal critic!  A  brother  scribbler!  And  I  whose  nails  were 
normal,  whose  head  was  only  moderately  hirsute,  could  only 
shrink  into  nothingness  beside  this  bird-of-paradise  of  a 
reviewer. 

After  the  performance,  at  about  10  p.  m.,  it  is  pleasant  to 
stroll  down  the  hill  to  the  city,  in  the  midsummer  night, 
and  if  you  pass  by  the  hotel  "Zum  Schwarzen  Ross"  on  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  95 

way, you  will  find  some  of  the  artists  gathered  there,  who 
are  afraid  of  the  Angermann  revelry  described  in  my  last 
chapter,  although  the  place  is  not  patronized  as  it  was  some 
three  years  ago .  But  there  is  a  Wagnerian  quest  that  draws 
me  away  from  Bayreuth  now;  in  Munich  they  are  giving  the 
earliest  opera  of  the  master — "  The  Fairies  " — and  therefore 
I  take  the  train  for  that  city.  But  I  stop  at  Wurzburg  and 
Nuremberg .  On  the  way  from  here  I  shall  find  reminiscences 
of  many  of  Wagner's  characters,  and  a  run  through  the 
latter  old  city  is  the  best  possible  prelude  or  postlude  to 
"  The  Mastersingers . " 

By  Hessische-Lud wig's  Bahn  to  Wurzburg.  That  rail- 
road needs  quinine;  it  has  the  ague  in  its  worst  shape .  The 
train  traveled  as  much  from  side  to  side  as  it  did  forward, 
but  a  lively  American  game  caused  the  time  to  fly  so  speedily 
that  we  were  nearly  carried  by  our  destination .  A  ker- 
messe  was  being  held  in  the  city  when  we  came,  and  we  were 
glad  enough  to  wander  among  the  booths  and  the  peasantry 
in  their  holiday  attire.  Among  the  blind  the  one-eyed  man 
is  king;  among  the  Bavarian  peasants  we  became  princes. 
"Here!  your  highness!"  shouted  one  vendor,  "buy  a  beau- 
tiful surprise  for  your  noble  lady,"  but  even  that  flattery 
caused  no  sale.  We  went,  however,  to  a  Punch  and  Judy 
show,  and  found  that  in  Germany  Punch  remains  as  wicked 
a  wife-beater  as  ever,  although  he  has  lost  the  squeak  which 
in  America  is  his  chief  charm.  In  Wurzburg,  as  almost 
everywhere  else,  I  found  European  hotel  life  changing  and 
for  the  better.  The  same  statement  is  true  of  many  customs 
which  I  have  criticised  in  the  past,  but  which  exist  no  more 
even  in  the  smaller  cities.  The  barber  no  longer  seats  you 
on  a  hard  stool,  twists  your  neck  off  and  expects  you  to 
wash  the  remains  of  the  lather  out  of  your  own  ears;  the 
sanitary  provisions  in  hotels  have  passed  beyond  those  of 
a  Hottentot  village;  one  begins  to  have  candles  allowed  as 


96  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

a  necessity  at  night  and  not  charged  as  a  luxury;  but  the 
beds,  in  Germany  at  least,  are  still  built  in  the  manner  so 
distressing  to  an  American.  Most  of  them  were  too  short 
for  me,  and  I  had  a  choice  of  three  remedies:  1st  to  saw  my 
legs  off  at  the  knee;  2d  to  kick  holes  through  the  footboard; 
3d,  to  allow  my  feet  to  hang  over  the  dasher.  To  lay  di- 
agonally was  impossible,  on  account  of  the  lack  of  width  of 
the  infernal  machine.  Besides  this  one  has  to  bear  the 
atrocious  feather-bed  on  top,  so  that  one  feels  like  a  rasher 
of  meat  in  a  railroad  sandwich .  Add  to  this  that  the  head 
is  bolstered  up  high  in  mid-air  (some  of  the  Germans  evi- 
dently sleep  standing) ,  and  you  can  imagine  that  * '  tired 
nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  sleep,"  loses  some  of  the 
balm. 

While  I  am  in  a  growling  mood  let  me  pa}'  my  attention 
to  the  cigars  of  Germany.  With  a  plaster  on  the  back  of 
one's  neck  to  make  them  draw,  plugs  of  cotton  in  the  nos- 
trils to  keep  away  the  smell,  and  a  very  tight  belt  around 
the  waist  to  hold  one's  stomach  in  position  during  the  ordeal, 
they  might  be  borne  by  a  man  of  firm  will  and  iron  consti- 
tution, otherwise  not.  It  makes  little  difference  how  much 
you  pay  for  them.  I  have  had  some  at  a  mark  apiece, 
which  fulfilled  all  the  conditions.  But  I  must  add  that 
there  are  one  or  two  stores  in  Berlin,  known  only  to  the 
initiated,  where  a  respectable  smoke  may  be  obtained. 

From  Wiirzburg  to  Nuremberg.  The  latter  citjr  is  one 
solid  curiosity  shop.  Old  streets,  bridges,  churches,  fount- 
ains— a  perfect  city  of  the  middle  ages  dropped  down  into 
the  19th  century.  There  is  a  terrible  collection  of  instru- 
ments of  torture  in  the  castle,  frightful  beyond  belief,  and 
one  of  them  (a  charming  cradle,  with  spikes  in  it  to  prevent 
the  occupant  from  sleeping  too  soundly)  was  used  in  this 
century,  and  on  an  innocent  man  over  60  years  of  age!  If 
I  had  had  the  guide  who  took  me  around  Bonn  in  that 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  97 

chamber,  I  think  that  by  the  aid  of  the  thumb-screws  and  a 
charming  little  arrangement  for  pulling  out  a  six  foot  man 
into  one  eight  or  nine  feet  high,  I  could  have  found  out  in 
which  of  the  two  houses  Beethoven  was  born.  And  by  the 
way,  I  must  pay  tribute  to  that  same  guide's  ingenuity,  for 
on  finding  both  houses  labelled  as  the  u  birth-place  of  Beet- 
hoven" he  unblushing^  told  me  that  the  son  of  the  great 
composer  was  born  in  the  second.  I  explained  to  him  that 
Beethoven  was  a  bachelor  and  not  an  immoral  one  either, 
but  he  clung  to  his  statement.  To  return  to  my  Nuremburg 
experience. 

I  took  my  lunch  in  a  little  hostelry  called  the  Brat-wurst 
Gloecklein,  where  they  make  a  specialty  of  hot  sausages  and 
beer.  It  is  a  more  interesting  place  than  Auerbach's  cel- 
lar in  Leipsic  (although  no  Goethe  has  yet  sung  its  praises) , 
for  in  the  quaint  little  room,  which  has  been  a  tap-room  for 
500  years,  have  sat  Hans  Sachs,  Albrecht  Durer,  Yeit  Viss- 
cher  and  a  host  of  other  worthies  of  the  past,  whose  names 
adorn  the  walls.  After  the  cravings  of  the  inner  man  had 
been  pacified  I  made  a  few  purchases  in  the  city  and  learned 
another  point.  I  desired  to  see  some  shirts,  and  was  shown 
a  marvelous  arrangement  with  gorgeous  ruffles  on  the  bosom 
and  a  general  loudness  of  style  that  suggested  the  end  man 
of  a  negro  minstrel  show.  "That  sir,  is  an  American 
shirt!"  said  the  lady,  proudly. 

"Do  they  wear  them  like  that  in  Boston  and  New  York?" 
I  timidly  inquired .  "  Oh ,  yes ,  * '  was  the  calm  reply .  How 
the  fashions  must  have  changed  since  I  left  my  native  land! 
A  game  of  billiards  at  the  Cafe  Zettelmeier  closed  the  day . 
The  peculiarity  of  this  game  was  that  there  was  no  appli- 
ance of  any  kind  for  keeping  the  score .  You  count  in  your 
mind,  and  the  man  with  the  longest  memory  wins  the  game. 
I  have  a  phenomenal  memory.  The  pretty  waiter  girl, 
however,  prevented  me  from  keeping  my  tally  firmly  in 


98  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES 

mind,  for  she  wanted  to  know  about  America.  "Were 
there  waiter  girls  there? "  "  Yes ,  but  not  as  pretty  as  she . ' ' 
"Ach,  so!  And  where  did  I  live  in  America?"  I  told  her 
"at  No.  18,"  and  she  promised  to  call  if  ever  she  came  over, 
but  she  had  not  yet  been  away  from  Nuremberg,  and  she 
was  afraid  to  try  the  trip.  The  next  day  I  left  Nuremberg 
and  die  schone.Kellnerin,  and  began  a  further  staccato  on 
the  ague-stricken  railway.  But  the  conductors  are  polite 
enough  to  make  up  for  any  shortcomings  of  the  road.  They 
come  for  the  tickets  with  "Die  Billeten  wenn  ich  bitten 
darf?"  Fancy  an  American  conductor  saying  to  you, 
"May  I  take  the  liberty  of  begging  to  look  at  your  ticket?" 
One  would  at  once  take  him  before  a  commission  de  luna- 
tico  inquirendo. 

But  do  not  be  foolish  enough  to  trust  the  politeness.  It 
is  only  a  bear  who  has  learned  to  dance.  Let  there  be  any 
doubt  about  your  ticket  or  your  tip,  and  the  veneering 
cracks  off  instantly.  It  is  quite  the  same  with  Parisian 
suavity .  I  have  seen  more  solid  politeness  in  a  western  farmer 
or  a  Texas  ranchman  than  in  a  hundred  phrase-making  Ger- 
mans or  Frenchmen. 

To  Munich  by  a  train  whose  slowness  I  have  already  com- 
mented on .  As  the  solemn  procession  moves  on  toward  the 
Bavarian  capital,  the  bells  at  the  stations  ring  out  melan- 
choly signals  in  minor  thirds.  Why  these  bells  should  al- 
ways be  tuned  to  this  sad  interval  I  know  not,  but  it  was  a 
relief  to  have  the  signal  at  Regensburg  give  a  major  sixth. 
Another  comical  railway  custom  is  to  give  the  passengers 
several  warnings  before  their  train  starts.  An  official  ap- 
proaches the  waiting  room,  and  after  ringing  a  bell,  pro- 
claims, in  most  important  style, ' '  Passengers  for  Regensburg, 
Weiden  and  Munich" — I  gather  up  my  parcels  hastily  and 
go  to  the  door — "  have  fifteen  minutes  time  yet!"  Was 
there  ever  a  more  exasperating  way  of  doing  things?     He 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  99 

shouts  again  later  on,  telling  us  that  we  have  ten  minutes 
yet,  and  finally  the  intelligence  that  it  is  "the  highest  time 
to  get  aboard!"  With  all  these  orations  I  nearly  lost  my 
train,  believing  his  last  speech  an  unimportant  one,  and 
paying  no  attention  to  it. 

I  came  to  Munich,  as  above  stated,  on  another  Wagnerian 
excursion.  I  had  heard  Wagner's  latest  work,  "Parsifal," 
at  Bayreuth;  it  was  a  great  contrast  to  hear  his  first  work, 
"  The  Fairies,"  given  at  Munich.  The  vast  opera  house 
was  crowded  to  the  doors,  and  it  was  with  great  difficulty 
that,  at  an  advanced  price,  I  obtained  an  orchestra  seat. 

The  opera  was  mounted  with  great  splendor,  its  stage  ef- 
fects being  even  comparable  with  those  of  Ba3'reuth.  The 
management  chose  to  make  a  spectacular  piece  of  it  and  were 
wise  in  doing  so,  for  it  has  merely  a  ballet  plot,  and  one 
which  is  far  too  ridiculous  for  serious  treatment .  The  music, 
although  reminiscent,  is  much  better  than  the  libretto. 
The  plot  is  a  compound  of  "Tolanthe"  and  "Lurline."  A 
young  prince  has  married  a  fairy  and  is  pledged  for  eight 
years  not  to  ask  who  she  is.  Naturally  he  waits  patiently 
seven  years  and  364  days,  and  then  asks  the  name  and  ad- 
dress of  his  spouse,  who  at  once  disappears.  Two  children 
have  been  born  to  the  couple,  whose  status,  like  that  of 
Strephon  in  Iolanthe,  is  not  quite  decided.  In  order  to  re- 
gain his  spouse,  Arindel,  the  prince  aforesaid,  who  has  now 
become  king,  has  to  be  tried  in  the  most  terrible  fashion, 
and  should  he  curse  his  wife,  he  is  to  lose  her  forever.  That 
lady  appears  in  his  palace,  with  a  bevy  of  lovely  fairies  in 
short  dresses,  and  calmly  turning  the  place  into  a  fiery  fur- 
nace, takes  the  two  children  of  the  king  and  throws  them 
in  the  flames.  The  monarch  does  not  altogether  approve  of 
this  application  of  the  Malthusian  doctrine,  but  still  refrains 
from  cursing,  not  even  saying  "  demmit!"  Those  two 
children,  by  the  way,  are  afterward  found  safe   and  sound. 


100  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

They  are  pulled  about  in  a  manner  that  recalls  the  youngs- 
ters in  "  Norma." 

After  a  few  other  calamities  are  doled  out  to  the  monarch, 
such  as  the  defeat  of  his  army,  the  death  of  his  friend,  the 
betra}-al  of  his  palace,  etc.,  by  this  most  uncomfortable 
spouse,  the  king  gets  angry  and  curses  the  fairy,  who  is 
traveling  incognita.  She  then  informs  him  that  he  has  lost 
her  forever,  and  getting  on  a  cloud,  drives  off  to  fairyland. 
That  cloud  was  continually  coming  on  or  going  off  the  stage, 
by  the  way ,  and  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  fairy  omnibus;  it  was 
not  as  comfortable  even  as  a  Chicago  Hansom,  for  when  it 
went  up  in  the  air  the  passengers  clung  to  it  very  tightly 
and  looked  most  uncomfortable.  Fairies  and  mortals  min- 
gled together  in  this  act  with  the  same  unconcern  that  is 
found  in  "Iolanthe."  In  the  third  act  the  king  goes  crazy, 
and  the  conventional  operatic  mad  scene  is  introduced.  You 
know  that  on  the  operatic  stage  the  crazier  a  person  gets 
the  better  he  sings,  and  this  is  the  case  with  Arindel,  who 
after  a  brilliant  aria  recovers  his  senses,  and  being  helped 
by  a  sorcerer  named  Chroma  (why  he  is  thus  helped  is  not 
stated),  goes  through  enchanted  regions,  amid  monsters  of 
every  guise,  to  conquer  back  his  wife.  The  end  is  happy, 
for  the  ruler  of  fairyland  rewards  his  faithful  love  by  re- 
turning his  wife  to  him,  and  making  him  also  a  genuine, 
imperishable,  first-class  fairy. 

Imagine  such  a  Wagnerian  plot!  It  is  an  injustice  to  the 
memory  of  the  great  master  to  produce  it.  As  well  produce 
that  bloodthirsty  play  which  he  wrote  in  childhood ,  wherein 
he  killed  all  the  characters  (some  thirty)  in  the  second  act, 
and  ran  the  third  act  with  their  ghosts! 

The  music,  I  have  said,  is  far  better.  If  the  plot  could 
only  be  worked  over  into  something  sensible,  the  opera 
would  be  performed  sometimes,  not  merely  as  a  curiosity, 
but  on  its  own  merits.     There  are  fragments  of  "Weber  and 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  101 

of  Bellini  and  Auber  in  it ,  and  I  found  in  the  heroic  char- 
acter of  some  of  the  soprano  work  more  than  a  reminiscence 
of  the  Queen  of  the  ^Night  in  "The  Magic  Flute."  Strangest 
of  all  was  it  to  find  the  conventional  aria,  scena,  cavatina, 
prayer, and  mad  scene  in  a  Wagnerian  work. 

The  opera  thoroughly  crushes  the  critics  who  have  main- 
tained that  Wagner  was  by  nature  incapable  of  composing 
tunes.  The  overture  is  in  medley  style  and  contains  some 
romantic  orchestral  coloring  a  la  Weber,  and  also  a  pretty 
march.  One  felt  (as  the  old  Frenchman  in  the  story)  like 
touching  one's  hat  continually  and  bowing  to  the  old  musi- 
cal acquaintances  as  they  went  by.  The  number  of  trans- 
formation scenes  and  the  amount  of  kettledrum  used  at  each 
was  astonishing.  The  second  act  is  the  strongest  of  the 
opera,  and  once  in  a  while  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  real 
Wagner  in  it.  The  arias  by  the  two  sopranos  are  of  very 
dramatic  character,  and  the  chorus  of  greeting  on  the  return 
of  Arindel  is  good,  but  Arindel's  mournful  reply,  with  a 
monotonous  figure  in  the  orchestral  accompaniment,  is  ori- 
ginal and  striking.  Very  interesting  too,  as  coming  from 
Wagner,  was  the  playful  quarrel  scene  between  the  king's 
esquire  and  his  sweetheart.  This  was  dainty  and  pretty  in 
every  detail.  It  is  one  of  the  "  ifs  "  of  musical  history 
whether  Wagner  could  not  have  composed  comic  opera,  in 
the  French  sense,  had  he  practiced  more  in  this  vein.  Thank 
heaven,  he  did  not! 

The  whole  latter  part  of  the  act  is  melodic  enough  to 
please  the  masses  and  was  applauded  to  the  echo.  The 
third  act  dealt  chiefly  with  spectacular  matters,  fiends,  imps, 
fairies, and  transformation  scenes,  yet  the  strongest  single 
number  of  the  work  is  in  this  act.  It  is  a  beautiful  and 
richly  harmonized  prayer  for  quintette  and  chorus ,  entirely 
unaccompanied. 

The  mad  scene  which  followed  was  of  the  usual  vehe- 


102  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

mently  capricious  character  of  such  scenes,  but  contained  a 
charming  oboe  solo  (pizzicato  accompaniment),  some  very 
tender  cantabile  passages,  and  some  bold  modulations  that 
already  promised  the  greater  Wagner .  A  final  song  (Gluck  's 
style  this  time)  by  Arindel,  with  harp  accompaniment,  is 
the  most  musical  touch  of  the  opera.  It  is  melodious 
enough  to  whistle. 

Then  came  the  transformation  scene  of  the  finale.  Never 
have  I  seen  anything  of  the  kind  more  gorgeously  done; 
buds  sprang  up  in  fairyland,  and  bursting,  disclosed  beauti- 
ful children;  shells  opened  and  became  chariots  drawn  by 
swans;  dissolving  views  and  tableaux  a  la  " Black  Crook" 
on  every  hand;  and  finally  with  a  dazzling  flash,  electric 
lights  of  every  color  burst  forth  from  every  part  of  the 
scene  at  once.  It  was  a  magnificent  ending  which  may  not 
be  described;  but  fancy  that  being  "Wagner!  !  From  "Par- 
sifal" to  this  was  a  jump  greater  than  from  Shakespeare  to 
Zola  would  have  been. 

Munich  is  a  city  devoted  to  art  and  beer.  Vast  exposi- 
tions of  paintings  are  in  one  part  of  the  city,  and  still  vaster 
breweries  in  another.  In  the  vorstadt  the  inhabitants  draw 
in  hops  and  malt  at  every  breath ,  for  the  atmosphere  is 
impregnated  with  beer.  Munich  was  suffering  from  the 
combined  effects  of  two  exhibitions  and  a  centennial  when 
I  came  there,  and  was  having  what  in  America  would  be 
technically  called  a  "jamboree.' '  Before  plunging  into  the 
whirl  of  dissipation  I  determined  to  get  as  near  to  godliness 
as  possible  by  taking  a  bath.  In  some  parts  of  Europe  this 
is  quite  a  ceremony,  and  I  was  therefore  not  astonished  to 
be  ushered  into  a  parlor  of  a  gloomy  looking  building,  and 
interviewed  on  the  subject  before  I  took  the  rash  step. 
"Would  I  have  it  first-class,  second-class, or  third-class?" 
Can  one  ever  get  rid  of  the  "class"  business  in  Europe? 
I  think  that  when  the  soul  of  the  European   presents  itself 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  103 

at  the  celestial  portal,  St.  Peter  will  inquire,  "Do you  want 
to  enter  as  a  first-class,  second-class  or  third-class  angel?' * 
I  had  enough  real  estate  gathered  upon  my  person  to  desire 
a  first-class  ablution,  and  stated  that  fact. 

There  is  no  denying  that  the  result  was  an  amount  of 
splendor  which  is  not  generally  associated  by  Americans 
with  a  wash.  A  marble  tank,  finely  decorated  at  the  edges 
with  artistic  tiles,  a  flowing  Eastern  robe,  scented  soap  and 
all  the  luxuries  of  the  season  were  there,  and  in  an  hour, 
refreshed  and  buoyant,  I  started  for  the  exhibitions.  The 
great  Gewerbe-Ausstellung  was  only  a  smaller  edition  of  our 
''Mechanics'  Fair,"  but  choicer  and  more  tastily  put  to- 
gether. It  needs  no  description,  although  I  am  sure  it 
would  be  well  for  some  of  our  fair  committeemen  to  go  there 
and  study  the  grouping.  So  I  went  to  the  other  end  of  the 
town  to  the  art  exposition,  which  was  of  far  more  interest 
to  me.  Of  course  I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  details  of  an 
exhibition  containing  hundreds  of  masterpieces  of  all  nations. 
I  may,  however,  mention  that  there  was  an  American  sec- 
tion .   It  was  small ,  yet  some  good  painters  were  represented . 

One  must  not  omit  a  visit  to  the  great  breweries  in 
Munich ,  and  the  Cafe  Luitpold  is  one  of  the  most  gorgeous 
restaurants  of  the  world . 

In  the  matter  of  processions  we  have  much  to  learn  from 
Europe,  and  most  especially  from  such  an  art  centre  as 
Munich.  I  recall  a  procession  I  once  saw  in  Munich  on  the 
occasion  of  the  centennial  of  the  dynasty  of  Bavaria, 
which  was  a  wonder.  With  us  on  such  an  occasion  there 
are  half  a  hundred  brass  bands,  a  dozen  regiments  of 
militia,  a  number  of  Masonic  and  charitable  societies,  and 
a  boy  with  a  pail  of  lemonade.  The  very  beginning 
of  the  Munich  cortege  was  a  surprise;   instead  of  a  drum- 


104  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

major  strutting  like  a  turkey-cock,  there  came  a  number  of 
youths  beautifully  attired  as  pages,  and  following  these  a 
number  of  trumpeters  in  old  heraldic  costume.  The  pro- 
cession was  made  up  of  many  tableaux  borne  on  great 
wagons,  or  floats,  a  herd  of  elephants,  a  whole  host  of 
strange  mechanical  devices,  and  blended  historical  instruc- 
tion with  artistic  pageantry  in  a  most  wonderful  manner. 
The  mechanical  devices,  however,  led  to  a  disaster,  for,  as 
the  herd  of  elephants  came  along,  they  were  obliged  to  pass 
by  a  monster  dragon  which  was  side-tracked  while  some  re- 
pairs were  being  made  in  its  interior.  Just  at  that  un- 
luckjr  moment  the  engineer  turned  on  steam,  and  the  hideous 
monster  began  to  hiss  and  spit  forth  clouds  of  vapor.  The 
result  was  easy  to  predict;  the  elephants,  mad  with  terror, 
rushed  into  the  crowd,  and  a  fearful  catastrophe  was  the 
result. 

During  that  same  festival  season  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  old  conservative  composer,  since  dead, — Franz  Lach- 
ner.  I  found  him  in  modest  quarters,  as  was  the  case 
with  too  many  of  the  German  composers  that  I  visited,  but 
he  received  me  with  unaffected  cordiality.  A  short,  stubby 
figure,  a  genial  face  topped  with  j?ray  hair,  a  twinkling  eye 
that  seemed  to  enjoy  a  joke,  that  was  Lachner.  He  had 
recently  celebrated  his  "jubilee"  on  the  completion  of  his 
fiftieth  year  of  service  as  a  musical  director,  and  showed  me 
with  delight  the  many  addresses,  the  telegrams,  the  poems, 
and  the  laurel  wreaths,  that  he  had  gathered  in  on  that 
occasion .  These  honors  are  more  prized  by  such  a  nature 
than  the  greatest  salaiy  that  America  could  offer.  Yet 
Lachner  expressed  regret  that  he  had  never  seen  our  country, 
and  then  came  the  sad  remark,  "it  is  too  late  now."  He 
sighed  as  he  said  this,  and  perhaps  thought  that  the  very 
gifts  that  spoke  of  his  fifty  years'  service  also  portended 
the  end  that  was  soon  to  come.     And  then  he  spoke  of 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  105 

Beethoven  to  me,  and  of  Schubert.  It  was  like  turning 
back  the  hands  of  the  clock  half  a  century  and  more,  to 
converse  with  this  man.  He  had  been  an  orchestral  leader 
in  Vienna  when  Schubert  was  alive!  He  had  composed 
songs  in  friendly  rivalry  with  him!  He  was  a  contempora- 
neous composer  with  Beethoven!  When  I  told  Lachner 
that  we  admired  his  suites  in  America,  and  proved  my  fa- 
miliarity with  some  of  them,  the  ice  was  broken  and  the 
pleasant  Bavarian  ways  came  to  the  surface,  and  anecdote 
followed  anecdote  until  the  time  of  my  departure,  and  then 
came  greetings  to  American  acquaintances,  and  I  left  the 
veteran  never  to  behold  him  more. 

Rheinberger  I  found  more  in  the  American  style  of 
activity,  neatly  dressed  and  dapper,  full  of  the  keenest 
interest  in  American  musical  matters,  and  thoroughly  con- 
versant with  what  is  going  on  among  us .  He  seemed  to  have 
less  of  the  conservative  qualities  which  were  so  prominent 
in  the  others.  One  pleasant  fact  I  must  mention  in  connec- 
tion with  these  composers  and  instructors — they  all  spoke  in 
the  highest  terms  of  their  American  pupils.  Our  country 
has  been  better  represented  abroad  of  late  }Tears  than  ever 
heretofore,  and  if  half  of  what  these  authorities  enthusiasti- 
cally told  me  be  true,  we  shall  have  a  large  crop  of  composers 
shortly.  Rheinberger  sent  many  greetings  to  his  friend, 
Professor  Baermann,  in  Boston,  and  said  that  he  hoped  to 
see  our  country  one  of  these  days.  What  a  grand  influence 
in  the  progress  of  our  art  such  a  man  would  be! 


106  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

TO   VIENNA THE    PRATER SOME   GYPSY   MUSIC BUDA-PESTH 

THE     HOME     OF     THE     GYPSIES HUNGARIAN     MUSIC     AND 

MANNERS. 

The  trip  to  Vienna  from  Munich  is  not  an  unpleasant  one, 
and  one  can  break  journey  at  Salzburg  and  find  a  whole 
museum  of  Mozart  relics.  The  town  itself  is  beautiful  in 
its  scenery  and  surroundings,  but  the  musician  finds  his 
greatest  pleasure  in  looking  over  the  rarities  of  the  Mozart 
collection .  Perhaps  the  most  interesting  single  piece  among 
the  set  of  autographs,  scores,  and  relics,  is  a  manuscript  work 
which  Mozart  composed  at  seven  years  of  age.  A  repro- 
duction of  this  may  be  of  interest  to  American  readers,  and 
it  may  stand  in  place  of  any  further  Salzburg  reminiscences 
or  views. 

I  arrived  at  Vienna  in  the  very  midst  of  the  heated  term, 
and  the  first  impression  was  that  I  had  plunged  into  purga- 
tory. It  was  one  of  those  days  when  Sydney  Smith  says 
"a  man  would  like  to  take  his  flesh  off  and  sit  in  his  bones!" 
The  thermometer  registered  102°  in  the  shade,  and  several 
of  the  oldest  inhabitants  assured  me  that  such  weather  had 
not  been  felt  in  Vienna  for  twenty  years.  I  shall  not  give 
the  catalogue  of  the  various  antidotes  which  I  tried  against 
the  fervid  atmosphere;  even  the  delicious  Pilsner,  the  best 
and  lightest  beer  of  Europe,  was  powerless.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  perseverance  brought  its  reward  in  the  discovery 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  107 

of  the  largest  swimming  bath  of  its  kind  in  Europe,  situa- 
ted just  be}ond  the  Prater  Strasse,  on  the  Danube.  I  was 
struck  here,  as  everywhere  in  Vienna,  with  the  manner  in 
which  everything  is  systematized.  The  temperature  of  the 
water,  and  of  the  air,  is  marked  upon  a  blackboard  at  the 
entrance  to  each  of  the  four  immense  basins;  inside  is  marked 
the  depth  of  each;  the  bath  doctor  is  in  constant  attend- 
ance to  counsel  any  who  seek  his  advice.  The  pleasant 
bath  becomes  a  perfect  hydropathic  establishment. 

But  if  the  Viennese  systematize  in  some  things,  they  have 
cumbersome  formalities  in  others.  I  saw  a  young  Ameri- 
can pompously  reprimanded  for  taking  his  coat  off  while 
playing  a  game  of  billiards  and  adding  to  the  crime  by 
whistling  a  tune  in  a  cafe.  At  the  same  time,  some  (but 
by  no  means  all)  of  the  cafes  are  what  we  should  call  deci- 
dedly immoral.  Yet  in  every  cafe  the  stranger  who  takes 
a  seat  near  your  table  will  make  obeisance  and  say  "Mit  Ihr' 
Erlaubniss"  ("with  your  permission")  and  when  he  arises 
to  go  will  bow  again  with  "Ich  habe  die  Ehre,"  which  is  an 
abbreviated  form  of  saying  ' '  I  have  the  honor  to  take  my 
leave."  In  two  of  the  taverns  they  had  a  few  souvenirs  of 
Schubert,  and  anecdotes  as  well,  which  had  been  handed  down 
traditionally,  of  how  he  used  to  break  the  dishes  in  sport, 
and  how  he  used  to  tease  the  waiter  for  a  long  time  before 
candidly  confessing  how  much  his  score  was.  I  went  along 
many  of  his  old-time  walks  but  was  not  able  to  discover  the 
restaurant  where  he  composed  "Hark!  hark!  the  Lark!" 
on  the  back  of  a  bill  of  fare  while  waiting  for  his  breakfast, 
after  one  of  his  morning  strolls.  But  of  Beethoven  I  found 
a  reminiscence  in  Schonbrunn,  the  beautiful  palace  just 
outside  of  the  city.  It  was  an  old  tree  in  the  garden,  with 
three  branches  separating  from  the  trunk,  about  four  feet 
from  the  ground.  These  three  branches  form  a  natural 
seat,  and  in  this  seat  Beethoven  did  much  of  his  composing 


108  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

in  1823-4.  In  this  secluded  perch  he  thought  out  pari  of 
his  ninth  symphony,  so  he  told  Schindler,  his  friend  and 
biographer,  and  so  Schindler  told  the  old  musician  who  took 
me  to  the  spot.  I  climbed  into  the  seat,  but  I  did  not  write 
a  symphony;  it  would  not  have  been  quite  fair  to  Beethoven, 
for  after  all  he  was  the  originator  of  this  out-door  style  of 
musical  work.  I  can  readily  imagine  his  working  thus  in 
a  peaceful  solitude,  for  I  visited  some  of  his  temporary  re- 
sidences in  Vienna  and  they  were  in  rather  noisy  localities. 
It  is  said  that  once  he  was  led,  through  this  fact,  to  write 
one  of  his  most  striking  figures.  It  was  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  and  a  drunken  man  had  been  locked  out  of  his  lodg- 
ings across  the  way.  The  clatter  soon  awakened  even  the 
semi-deaf  composer,  and  he  listened;  "  Bang-bang-bang, 
bang!!"  went  the  irate  and  homeless  lodger,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  pause;  no  result;  again — "Bang-bang-bang,  bang!!" 
until  finally  Beethoven  was  struck  with  the  emphatic  rhythm , 
and  down  it  went  into  the  familiar  note  book,  and  that 
"  Bang-bang-bang,  bang!!"  became  the 


of  the  fifth  symphony.  But  my  old  musical  friend  told  me 
that  they  have  another  anecdote  about  that  self-same  figure 
in  Vienna,  which  is  that  Beethoven  was  drumming  on  the 
window  pane  of  Artaria's  music  store  one  rainy  day,  when 
he  suddenly  jotted  down  the  rhythm  made  by  his  own  four 
fingers.  In  this  case  I  must  allow  the  reader  to  take  his 
own  choice  of  tales.  But  the  anecdotes  of  this  particular 
figure  are  almost  endless,  the  most  pathetic  being  that 
Schumann  imagined  that  he  heard  it  rapped  out  atn  spiritu- 
alist seance,  and  fancied  that  Beethoven  was  trying  to  com- 
municate with  him;  the  most  vulgar  interpretation  of  the 
meaning   coming  from  Beethoven  himself   in  one  of  his 


JOSEF    RHEINBERGER, 

DIRECTOR    OF    THE    ROYAL    CONSERVATORY,    MUNICH. 


EUR  OPE  A  1ST  REMINISCENCES.  109 

bizarre  moods.  And  thus  Vienna  is  full  of  reminiscences  of 
Beethoven  and  Schubert,  and  in  the  great  central  cemetery, 
(formerly  they  were  at  Wahring),  in  this  same  city,  they 
rest  together,  their  graves  being  but  a  few  steps  apart.  On 
the  grave  of  Beethoven,  over  fifty  years  ago,  Schumann 
found  a  pen ,  and  with  that  pen  he  wrote  his  own  beautiful 
symphony  of  Love  and  Springtime,  the  symphony  in  B  flat. 
I  had  been  in  Beethoven's  tree,  and  had  not  composed  a 
successor  to  the  9th  sj'mphon}',  and  now  I  looked  in  vain 
for  a  pen  which  would  enable  me  to  follow  Schumann.  So 
I  went  back  to  the  Ring  Strasse  and  sought  my  musical 
friend  Albert  Jungmann,  who  was  as  dapper  and  genial  as 
any  Wienerkind  (child  of  Vienna)  ought  to  be,  and  he  took 
me  to  the  grand  opera  which  is  one  of  the  finest  buildings 
of  Vienna 

The  best  singers  of  the  troupe  were  absent,  (I  have 
spoken  of  some  of  them  in  my  Bayreuth  chapters)  but  the 
great  chorus  and  superb  orchestra  were  enough  to  make  even 
Abbey  green  with  envy.  I  saw,  too,  an  opera  which 
called  forth  all  the  best  stage  effects — "The  Huguenots." 
In  the  second  act  there  must  have  been  some  two  hundred 
people  on  the  stage,  and  the  Princess  and  suite  galloped  on 
(and  sang)  on  horseback.  The  auditorium  itself  is  one  of 
the  finest  in  Europe.  Its  foyer  is  more  elegant  than  that  of 
the  Grand  Opera  House  of  Paris. 

I  wished  to  learn  something  of  the  editorial  customs  in  so 
formal  a  countr}7,  and  therefore  called  upon  the  redaction  of 
the  "Neue  Freie  Presse,"  one  of  the  leading  journals  of 
Europe.  It  is  housed  in  a  palatial  mansion,  but  the  rooms 
of  the  editors  are  not  nearly  so  commodious  or  convenient 
as  those  of  the  American  press.  I  had  hoped  to  have  met 
here  the  greatest  of  musical  critics,  Dr.  Ed.  Hans  lick,  but 
he  had  already  departed  for  the  summer . 

I  spoke  with  what  in  America  would  have  been  the  "ex- 


HO  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

change  editor,"  who  was  translating  some  passages  from  a 
French  journal.  He  told  me  that  in  Europe  "exchanging" 
was  unknown.  Each  paper  subscribes  to  the  leading 
journals.  "It  could  not  be  otherwise,"  said  he,  "for  the 
prices  of  the  papers  are  different!"  He  was  much  interested 
when  I  explained  to  him  our  system.  I  also  spoke  with  a 
young  editor  who  was  occupied  in  editing  a  letter  from 
Hungary  relative  to  the  persecution  of  the  Jews  there.  As 
this  happened  some  years  ago,  I  felt  that  the  Viennese  did 
not  crave  novelty  very  extensively.  Their  papers  re- 
minded me  of  the  placid  sheet  in  our  country,  which  was 
called,  among  the  journalists,  "The  Porous  Plaster,"  be- 
cause it  was  ' '  good  for  a  week  back . ' '  When  Dr .  Hanslick 
hears  a  concert  or  an  opera,  they  do  not  expect  that  he  will 
rush  wildly  to  the  office  with  his  "copy"  after  the  manner 
of  an  American  critic,  but  any  time  thereafter  he  may 
graciously  deign  to  record  his  views  on  the  matter;  it  is 
considered  etiquette,  however,  not  to  defer  the  criticism 
until  the  singers  and  audience  are  dead. 

It  may  gratify  some  of  the  American  reviewers  to  know 
that  even  this  dilatory  Homer  sometimes  nods,  and  that 
once  he  too,  spoke  of  the  "usual  fine  execution"  of  a  vo- 
calist who  did  not  sing  at  all  on"  the  occasion  the  reviewer 
referred  to. 

The  editors  take  their  coffee  and  rolls  in  as  tranquil  a 
manner  as  any  merchants,  during  the  business  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  I  fear  that  not  an  "exclusive"  murder,  a  sen- 
sational suicide,  or  even  a  dog-fight  in  the  immediate 
vicinity,  would  move  them  then.  In  some  newspaper 
offices,  however,  they  go  beyond  even  American  enterprise 
in  a  certain  direction.  We  think  it  natural  to  buy  a  "five 
o'clock  edition"  on  the  streets  at  three  o'clock  p.m.,  but  in 
some  of  the  German  cities  they  date  their  evening  edition 
the  next  morning ,  so  that  you  can  buy  a  Friday 's  paper  on 
Thursday  evening! 


> 

V, 

> 


V    2 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  \\\ 

x  dwelt  at  the  "Hotel  Erzherzog  Karl,"  and  found  the 
porter  there  several  degrees  less  pompous  than  his  tribe. 
Not  that  he  did  not  bestow  titles  of  nobility  upon  me,  I 
should  have  felt  hurt  had  he  omitted  that,  but  his  gratitude 
at  receiving  a  few  good  cigars,  (as  an  inhabitant  of  Austria 
he  had  read  about  such  things  being  in  existence,  but  had 
never  seen  them)  found  vent  in  paternal  advice  as  to  every- 
thing that  ought  to  be  visited,  and  ought  not  to,  in  the 
imperial  city .  I  am  afraid  that  he  was  not  in  sympathy  with 
my  musical  pilgrimages,  and  thought  that  my  looking  up 
reminiscences  of  the  dead  was  not  exactly  just  to  the  living 
Viennese,  and  when  I  came  in  sedately  at  1 1  p.  m.,  he  looked 
at  me  reproachfully  as  if  I  were  losing  my  opportunities. 
But  he  brightened  up  when  I  began  going  to  the  Prater  on 
Sundays  or  fete  days. 

The  Prater  is  the  pride  of  Vienna,  and  justly  so.  It  is 
practically  many  parks  in  one.  First,  there  is  the  part 
nearest  the  Prater-strasse,  which  is  given  over  altogether  to 
the  working  classes.  Here  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  are  hun- 
dreds of  booths,  whirligigs,  shooting  galleries,  cafes,  gon- 
dolas, panoramas,  etc.,  each  with  an  orchestra.  It  is  like 
twenty  Fourth  of  Julys  rolled  into  one.  Even  the  display 
of  highly  colored  indigestion  in  the  shape  of  cakes,  candies, 
etc.,  is  not  lacking , 

The  peasantry  stroll  about  in  brightest  costumes ,  but  do 
not  get  into  line  and  sing  as  on  the  operatic  stage;  on  the 
contrary  they  dig  their  elbows  into  you,  and  tread  on  your 
corns  until  life  seems  a  burden.  The  booth-keepers  hail 
the  advent  of  a  stranger  with  more  than  effusive  flattery, 
and  seem  to  imagine  that  I  spend  my  days  in  ceaseless 
shooting,  panorama- vie  wing,  and  whirligiging,  and  the  effect 
of  twenty  brass  bands  within  hearing,  each  playing  a  dif- 
ferent tune,  and  each  possessing  an  ambitious  and  active 
bass   drummer,  is  sufficient  to  shatter   one's   ideas    about 


112  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

music  forever.  However,  the  bass  drums,  like  charity, 
cover  a  multitude  of  sins,  and  I  turn  from  "the  madding 
crowd' '  and  wander  through  beautiful  forest  paths  until  the 
Haupt  Allee  is  reached.  Here  is  again  a  vast  crowd,  but  of 
a  totally  different  character.  It  is  the  "Rotten  Row"  of 
Vienna.  Along  the  broad  avenue  pass  and  repass  splendid 
vehicles  of  all  descriptions,  containing  the  beau  monde  of 
the  empire.  Here  even  the  empress  loves  to  ride  early  in 
the  morning,  almost  unattended.  Along  the  sides  are  vast 
walks,  with  numerous  benches,  and  also  three  enormous 
cafes,  where  one  can  sit  in  the  open  air,  sipping  beer  or 
coffee,  and  listen  to  excellent  music.  It  was  in  one  of  these 
cafes  that  I  first  heard  the  gypsy  music  in  its  purity. 

It  was  in  "Cafe  No.  3,"  whither  I  often  went  to  hear  a 
really  excellent  military  band,  and  to  sip  an  equally  com- 
mendable coffee.  One  afternoon,  instead  of  the  tubas,  sax- 
horns, and  trombones,  I  heard  the  most  exquisite  stringed 
instrument  playing.  Its  character  can  scarcely  be  described 
in  cold  type,  it  was  so  very  fervid,  but  I  was  astonished  to 
find  that  tne  dozen  of  players  had  not  a  scrap  of  printed  or 
written  music  before  them;  all  was  inspirational  and  free. 
At  the  beginning  of  each  number,  the  leader  arose  with  his 
violin  and  plunged  into  a  characteristic  air,  in  which  all 
the  others  followed  with  appropriate,  if  at  times  unconven- 
tional harmonies.  No  matter  how  he  varied  the  tempo, 
and  this  was  caprice  personified,  the  players  kept  together, 
and  with  him.  The  work  generally  began  in  slow  and 
tender  fashion;  with  quaint  intervals,  founded  I  afterwards 
learned,  upon  the  Hungarian  scale,  which  is  an  especially 
weird  minor  mode,  running  thus  : 


3=3=^ 


R—  *— f: 


and  its  two  augmented  seconds  make  an  anguished  effect 
that  is  indescribable;  deeper  and  deeper  grows  the  yearning 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  H3 

and  sorrow,  and  then  it  seems  to  panse  from  very  heaviness 
— that  is  the  Lassan.  But  the  piece  is  not  done  yet;  sud- 
denly, crisp  and  clear,  there  comes  a  phrase  fiery  and  bold 
as  the  others  were  weary  and  plaintive;  and  now  wilder  and 
wilder  grows  the  music,  it  is  not  glad,  it  is  fierce;  it  is  not 
joy,  it  is  frenzy;  it  is  like  a  horde  of  ancient  Huns  riding 
impetuously  into  battle,  or  a  flight  of  furies.  The  frenzy 
mounts  to  delirium,  and  then,  at  the  very  height  of  it  all, 
it  comes  to  a  brusque  and  capricious  end — that  is  the  Friska. 
I  looked  at  the  swarthy  band  in  awe-struck  wonder,  and 
called  the  waiter  to  me.  "Who  are  those  musicians?" 
"Ah,  your  excellency  [I  had  still  some  small  change  to 
disburse],  must  excuse  it;  our  band  is  in  the  city  to-day, 
playing  at  a  ball,  and  we  had  to  put  up  with  these  Gypsies 
instead!"  That  "putting  up"  (!)  with  such  music  cost  the 
humble  waiter  his  tip,  although  he  hovered  around  like  a 
guardian  angel  during  the  rest  of  the  proceedings.  I  went 
to  the  leader  and  spoke  with  him  in  German .  He  was  de- 
lighted to  find  that  the  "Amerikaner"  had  been  carried 
along  on  the  stream  of  his  music,  and  finally  grew  confi- 
dential enough  to  tell  me  that  there  were  many  larger  bands 
in  Buda-Pesth.  He  assured  me  that  if  I  enjoyed  Tzigany 
music  I  must  at  once  depart  for  Hungary  and  study  it  in  its 
native  purity.  I  was  glad  enough  to  take  his  advice,  for 
although  I  cordially  agree  with  the  statement  that 

"  'Sg-iebt  nur  a  Kaiserstadt 
'Sgiebt  nur  a  "Wien," 

still  the  city  was  proving  just  a  trifle  too  seductive  for  my 
pocket,  and  my  purse  needed  change  of  air.  Therefore,  the 
next  morning  found  me  on  the  Danube  river.  I  went  in 
the  morning  that  I  might  be  able  to  negative  that  oft  re- 
peated question ,  "You  recollect  that  night  in  June  upon 
the  Danube  river?"  and  also  that  I  might  see  the  scenery. 


114  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

I  leave  to  Baedeker  and  his  guide-books  the  description 
of  all  that,  however,  only  adding  that  Strauss  would  have 
been  nearer  to  the  truth  if  he  had  written  "the  beautiful 
yellow  Danube  waltzes."  On  the  boat  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  with  a  Hungarian  nobleman,  who  gave  me  some 
information  about  the  people  and  the  country.  Austria 
rules  Hungary  with  a  mild  and  beneficent  government,  but 
it  is  doubtful  if  it  can  ever  win  the  gratitude  of  the  wild , 
untamable  people .  With  these  latter  everything  is  national; 
they  will  not  speak  German  if  they  can  help  it;  every  child 
is  bound  by  law  to  learn  Hungarian;  if  official  notices  re- 
quire two  languages,  the  Hungarian  comes  first  and  there 
are  a  thousand  other  little  ways  in  which  the  people  show 
that  they  are  only  tributary  to  Austria,  and  are  not  Austrian. 

All  the  better  classes  have  the  wonderful  lingual,  or  phi- 
lological, facility  of  the  Russians,  and  speak  a  half  dozen 
tongues  with  ease.  All  through  Austria,  as  in  Germany, 
it  is  soldiers,  soldiers,  soldiers,  everywhere,  and  I  was  not 
surprised  to  see  fifty  cadets  come  on  the  boat  at  Pressburg, 
the  great  fortress,  and  make  the  journey  down  to  the  very 
"Iron  Gates,"  the  wonderfully  picturesque  Carpathian 
mountains,  the  frontiers  of  Hungary.  They  were  military 
graduates,  who,  at  the  completion  of  four  years'  study, 
were  sent  by  the  government  to  practically  study  the  topo- 
graphy of  the  country .  Some  of  them  took  a  vivid  interest 
in  American  affairs,  but  seemed  comically  ignorant  of  them. 
One  asked  me  about  our  arnry,  and  upon  being  told  its 
minute  proportions,  expressed  sympathy  at  the  dangers  we 
must  suffer  from  Indians.  On  my  telling  him  of  the  large 
army  which  the  civil  war  called  forth,  another  said,  "Oh,  I 
know  about  that.  You  were  led  by  General  Washington!" 
With  them  America  was  represented  by  one  cit}^,  and  even 
that  they  mispronounced  in  the  Russian  manner,  "Nejf 
York." 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  115 

Pesth,  the  Hungarian  capital,  is  worth  going  a  long  way 
to  see.  It  is  modern,  and  it  is  Oriental.  It  is,  in  fact,  two 
cities — Buda  on  one  side  of  the  Danube,  and  Pesth  on  the 
other.  The  latter  is  a  city  of  palaces.  The  Austrian  gov- 
ernment is  lending  its  aid  to  build  up  anew  city  by  degrees, 
and  street  after  street  of  small  one-story  hovels  has  given 
way  to  massive  and  vast  buildings. 

The  Opera  House,  the  gift  of  the  emperor  of  Austria,  is 
one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  architecture  in  all  Europe, 
and  the  great  street  leading  to  the  public  park  is  two  miles 
long,  yet  has  not  one  plain  or  small  edifice  in  all  its  length. 
It  is  one  row  of  palaces.  The  contrast  between  wealth  and 
poverty  is  far  too  striking  to  be  agreeable.  To  see  hungry 
and  hopeless  wretches  in  the  midst  of  so  much  splendor,  was 
an  incongruity  which  showed  that  there  was  something 
wrong  in  the  system,  possibly  too  many  palaces  and  too  few 
soup  houses.  The  oddity  of  the  construction  of  the  Hun- 
garian language  strikes  one  in  the  shop  signs,  for  here  they 
put  the  given  name  last,  as  "Ferenczy  Josef,"  or  "Zach 
Franz,"  which  makes  the  city  look  like  a  directory  or  a 
voting  list.  I  looked  around  for  "Smith  John,"  but  did 
not  succeed  in  finding  him. 

But  I  did  succeed  in  finding,  even  in  the  courtyard  of  my 
own  hotel,  (the  "Victoria"),  the  gypsy  bands  that  had 
tempted  me  away  from  Vienna.  They  took  as  great  an 
interest  in  me  as  I  in  them,  and  when  they  heard  that  I 
knew  Remenyi,  their  friendship  increased  perceptibly.  But 
the  fact  of  their  asking  for  him,  and  my  being  able  to 
answer,  may  have  given  them  a  false  idea  of  the  size  of  our 
country .  I  recall  a  similar  question  which  was  once  put  to 
me  in  Europe,  which  I  could  not  answer  so  well.  It  was  in 
Melrose,  in  Scotland,  and  I  had  won  the  heart  of  the  man 
who  was  driving  to  Abbotsford  with  me,  by  quoting  a  few 
lines  of  Scott  applicable  to  that  part  of  the  Tweed,  where- 


116  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

upon  he  grew  less  diffident  and  said  inquiringly,  "  You 
come  from  America?"  On  my  answering  in  the  affirmative 
he  added  one  more  question,  "  did  you  happen  to  meet 
Robert  Jones  there?"  It  seems  that  the  Robert  aforesaid 
had  gone  to  America,  (he  did  not  know  to  what  particular 
countrj'),  some  ten  years  before  then. 

A  few  walks  through  Pesth  convinced  me  that  the  scrip- 
tural Joseph  never  dwelt  there.  He  could  not  have  get 
away  even  with  the  loss  of  his  coat.  Besides  this,  Pesth 
copies  Vienna  in  the  servility  of  its  treatment  of  strangers, 
and  the  frequency  with  which  little  fees  are  extracted.  I 
dread  to  think  of  the  number  of  ro}ral  and  princely  titles 
and  deep  and  humble  bows  that  were  showered  on  me,  and 
the  equally  great  number  of  small  coins  which  went  to  keep 
up  my  patent  of  nobility.  It  is  a  little  at  a  time  and  often. 
A  couple  of  dollars  would  unhinge  the  spinal  columns  of 
all  the  waiters  in  Pesth,  and  the  flexibility  of  their  back- 
bones is  marvelous. 

The  poor  g}Tpsies!  I  saw  a  dozen  being  marched  up  to 
the  fortress  (prison)  under  guard.  They  were  arrested  as 
thieves,  and  among  them  were  thin,  little,  brown-skinned 
and  large-eyed  children  of  eight  and  ten  years  old.  There 
was  no  complaint,  ho  grief  even  visible  on  their  faces;  they 
went  with  a  matter-of-course  air  that  was  even  more  pitiable. 

Desiring  to  see  Hungarian  life  in  all  its  phases,  I  went 
into  a  large  cafe  of  the  lower  order  to  see  the  peasantry  and 
soldiery  in  their  convivial  moods.  The  men  were  in  their 
quaint  costumes,  with  a  short,  oddlooking  skirt  or  petticoat, 
and  they  looked  fierce  enough  in  spite  of  this  adjunct  of 
feminine  finery.  They  sang  Hungarian  songs  with  terrific 
vehemence,  and  seemed  not  in  the  least  akin  to  the  good- 
humored  Austrian  peasant.  One  of  them  grew  enraged  at 
the  fact  that  his  waitress  left  him  and  attended  to  my  orders, 
with   no    very   evident   haste   to   return  to  his  side.     He 


'S. 


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z 

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EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  117 

watched  the  trend  of  events  with  a  scowl  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  came  over  to  where  I  was  seated.  He  began  a 
long,  and  doubtless  very  eloquent,  oration  in  Hungarian 
before  me.  It  was  somewhat  on  the  "Ye  call  me  chief" 
order  of  elocution ,  and  the  gestures  were  largely  made  with 
clenched  fists.  Unfortunately  I  am  totally  ignorant  of  the 
Hungarian  tongue,  and  when  my  orator  paused  I  scarcely 
knew  how  to  return  thanks,  but  raised  my  glass  as  if  toast- 
ing him .  This  seemed  to  excite  him  greatly ,  and  he  pranced 
around  as  if  to  mingle  dancing  with  his  recitation,  and 
wound  up  the  exercises  by  throwing  his  cap  on  the  floor 
before  me.  By  this  time  the  host  and  three  waiters  were 
interested  in  the  proceedings,  and  the  orator  was  wafted  up 
the  stairway  into  the  outer  darkness,  and  then  I  was  in- 
formed that  it  was  simply  a  defiance  which  had  been 
breathed  upon  me,  and  that  the  dance  aforesaid  was  an  in- 
vitation to  fight,  with  an  "R.S.V.P."  attachment.  It  was 
too  late  to  look  up  my  challenger,  although  I  rather  ex- 
pected that  he  would  look  me  up,  assisted  by  a  few  friends, 
on  my  homeward  way,  but  I  heard  no  more  of  him 

Ofen,  or  Buda,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  contains 
the  finest  situated  palace  I  have  ever  seen.  High  up  on  a 
great  hill ,  almost  a  mountain ,  surrounded  by  walks  and  ter- 
races innumerable,  it  is  the  most  romantic  spot  of  the  city. 
Below  it  is  the  bazaar,  lined  with  little  shops,  and  near  by 
is  an  enormous  Turkish  bath  which  would  make  America 
pale  with  envy.  It  is  about  of  the  same  size  as  the  New 
York  Custom  House.  The  whole  town  of  Buda  is  essentially 
Hungarian,  and  Orsova,  farther  down  the  river,  is  almost 
Turkish  in  life  and  customs. 

I  have  not  found  the  hotels  in  southeastern  Europe  so 
expensive  as  I  had  imagined.  To  be  sure  the  bill  itself  is 
the  slightest  part  of  the  proceedings.  There  are  the  various 
india  rubber  contortionists  I  have  alluded  to ,  who  bow  their 


118  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

heads  to  the  dust  as  they  insist  upon  carrying  your  sacred 
umbrella  or  carpet-bag,  and  there  is  also  a  pompous  creature 
called  the  portier,  who  sometimes  wears  gold  lace  enough 
for  an  ambassador,  but  is  not  averse  to  receiving  gratuities. 

But  in  the  hotels  of  the  Danubian  principalities  the  en- 
tomology is  free  and  is  at  the  same  time  large  and  varied. 
One  can  study  it  without  leaving  the  house.  If  it  were 
charged  for  the  bill  would  be  tremendously  augmented. 
In  Vienna  the  hotels  are  excellent,  however. 

In  Buda  I  was  seized  with  the  idea  of  surprising  a  few 
friends  at  home  with  Hungarian  newspapers,  which  I  knew 
no  one  in  America,  except  a  few  imported  inhabitants,  could 
read.  It  was  simple  enough  to  buy  these,  for  all  the  shop- 
keepers spoke  German,  when  they  could  make  a  sale  by 
it.  But  that  was  only  the  preliminary  step;  I  had  to  send 
them  off  in  wrappers,  and  newspaper  wrappers  seemed  to  be 
unknown  in  Hungary.  By  the  time  I  had  stated  my  wishes 
at  the  post  office,  the  entire  postal  force  of  Buda  were 
gathered  around  to  assist.  An  attempt  to  stuff  the  journals 
into  the  largest  envelopes  in  the  office,  failed  ignominiously . 
Then  string  was  attempted,  but  there  arose  some  official  ob- 
jection to  this  (what  it  was  I  could  not  ascertain)  and  then 
two  clerks  set  to  work  cutting  strips  of  brown  paper  under 
my  direction  and  four  more  set  off  in  search  of  the  paste 
pot.  It  must  be  remembered  that  Buda  is  not  a  puny  vil- 
lage, and  the  illiterate  character  of  some  parts  of  Hungary, 
and  the  few  papers  that  are  dispatched  may  be  judged  from 
this  event.  When  finally  the  addresses  were  written  and 
the  parcel  delivered  to  the  chief  official,  who  had  betrayed 
the  greatest  concern  in  the  matter  from  its  inception,  he 
read  them  and  said,  "  These  are  all  people  of  Neff  York." 
"No,"  I  answered,  "but  they  are  all  in  America."  "  But 
that  is  the  same  thing,"  said  he  and  turned  away.  It  was 
useless  to  explain  that  the  people  of  Chicago,  Boston,  St. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  119 

Louis,  Cincinnati,  etc.,  etc.,  did  not  live  in  New  York.  I 
left,  serene  in  the  conviction  that  I  had  sent  the  first  news- 
papers to  America  from  that  particular  post-office  (I  may 
state  in  parenthesis  that  they  arrived  all  right) ,  and  strong 
in  the  belief  that  if  ever  a  New  York  alderman  visited  Hun- 
gary he  would  be  received  with  more  honors  than  the 
president  of  the  United  States. 


120  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER    X. 

ADELSBERG FLORENCE VENICE A    CONCERT    TWO     MILES 

LONG THE    RECEPTION     OF    THE     QUEEN MUSIC    ON    THE 

GRAND    CANAL ROME NAPLES POMPEII . 

From  Vienna  to  Adelsberg  the  movement  wentpm  lento, 
for  the  Italian  and  the  Austrian  trains  are  not  especially 
rapid.     But  this  was  rather  an  advantage  than  otherwise, 
for  the  scenery  through  the  Semmering  Pass  is  worthy  to 
rank  with   any   in   the   world.     The  American  mountain 
scenery  is,  undoubtedly,  equally  grand,  but  is  not  so  full 
of  incessant  changes,  and  the  deep  green  of  the  heavily 
wooded  mountains,  and  the  lighter,  yet  velvety  green  of 
the  valleys,  the  quaint  little  bridges,  the  white  towers  of  the 
churches,  the  tiled  or  thatched  cottages  in  the  little  villages, 
form  contrasts  that  make  an  artist's  paradise.     The  Cave  or 
Grotto  at  Adelsberg  is,  of  course,  the  great  attraction.    Not 
so  vast  as  Mammoth  Cave,  nor  so  beautiful  as  Lura}^,  it  is 
more  accessible,  and  its  columns  and  chambers  are  in  more 
fanciful  shapes.     An  altar,  a  pulpit,  a  shrine,  a  lace  curtain 
and  a  parrot  are  all  marvelously  exact,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
imagine  that  nature  was  the  only  sculptor .     A  vast  ballroom 
(also  natural)  is  used  once  a  year — at  Whitsuntide — by  the 
peasantry  for  a  festive  gathering  and  dance.     A  stream  flows 
through  the  cave,  with  the  usual  rapid  mountain  current. 
It  emerges  from  the  mountain  miles  away.     A  few  years 
f^KO  some  peasants  from  the  village  determined  to  trace  its 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  121 

course,  and  getting  into  a  small  boat  started  from  the  inte- 
rior of  the  cave.  It  came  very  near  being  a  voyage  into 
eternity,  for  after  going  a  few  miles  they  lound  that  they 
could  neither  go  forward  further  nor  return ,  on  account  of 
the  rapidity  of  the  stream.  Three  da}^s  later  they  were 
fished  out  by  a  cordon  of  boats  with  long  ropes,  very  hun- 
gry and  very  frightened,  but  none  the  worse  for  their  bold 
attempt. 

In  Adelsberg  I  encountered  a  first-class  specimen  of  Italian 
ignorance  of  America.  A  young  gentleman,  apparently  of 
good  family,  after  a  series  of  questions  about  the  United 
States,  expressed  great  surprise  that  I  was  not  an  Indian! 

From  Adelsberg  the  movement  went  presto  to  Venice. 
Before  reaching  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic  there  was  an  en- 
counter with  an  Italian  custom-house  officer,  whose  chief 
efforts  seemed  to  be  devoted  to  preventing  me  from  smug- 
gling six  infamously  bad  cigars  into  Italy.  I  at  first  thought 
that  this  might  have  been  in  the  interests  of  the  sanitary 
condition  of  the  smokers  of  Italy,  but  subsequent  trials  of 
Italian  cigars  convinced  me  that  this  was  not  the  case. 

One  plunges  into  the  typical  life  of  Venice  at  the  outset, 
for  you  must  take  a  gondola  from  the  railway  station  to  the 
hotel.  The  canals,  of  course,  are  at  every  threshhold,  and 
an  American  en  fan  terrible  who  rushed  out  to  play  in  the 
street,  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  was  fished  out  of  the 
water  only  after  he  had  imbibed  several  quarts  of  it. 

At  Venice  I  began  to  taste  the  sweets  of  hard  earned  re- 
pose. There  is  nothing  so  conducive  to  the  dolce-far-niente 
feeling  as  lymg  back  in  a  gondola  with  one's  feet  on  a  cush- 
ion, one's  head  on  another,  and  listening  to  the  musical  call 
of  the  gondoliers  as  they  shoot  through  the  narrow  water 
lanes  that  branch  out  from  the  Grand  Canal,  (which  is,  by 
the  way,  about  the  only  gondoliers'  music  in  the  city) .  As 
I  was  thus  tranquilly  dreaming,  I  saw  my  gondolier  stop 


122  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

rowing  and  take  off  his  hat;  I  had  just  time  to  rise  up  and 
take  off  my  sombrero  as  a  richly  ornamented  gondola  passed 
directly  by  my  own;  it  contained  a  most  beautiful  lady 
dressed  in  white,  a  face  and  figure  which  possessed  dignity, 
repose  and  elegance — the  queen  of  Italy.  She  had  but  just 
arrived  in  Venice,  and  on  my  return  to  the  Hotel  Danieli  I 
heard  that  the  municipality  was  to  give  her  a  serenade  that 
evening.  I  became  aware  of  the  fact  in  another  manner 
also.  When  there  is  a  fete  the  city  abolishes  the  regular 
gondola  fares  and  allows  each  boatman  to  get  the  highest 
price  he  can .  A  young  American  residing  at  the  hotel  de- 
sired me  to  come  to  his  aid  in  engaging  a  gondola.  As  an 
example  of  the  Italian  business  system  the  succeeding  inter- 
view may  be  instructive.  Having  intimated  my  desire  to 
obtain  a  noble  boat,  a  swarthy  boatman  informs  me  that  he 
is  the  possessor  of  a  magnificent  gondola,  just  such  as  my 
highness  needs.  The  boat  is  examined  and  proves  reason- 
ably satis f actor}'' .  "  How  much?"  "  Thirty  lire,  most 
noble."  I  laugh  a  scornful  laugh  and  say  that  I  do  not 
wish  to  hire  the  whole  fleet,  but  only  this  one  boat.  "How 
much  will  you  pay?"  "Thirteen  lire."  Now  the  gondo- 
lier assumes  an  attitude  of  bitter  anguish,  as  if  my  words 
had  cut  him  to  the  heart.  I  do' not  heed  this,  but  walk 
slowly  from  the  wharf.  Now  his  pain  is  shaped  into  words, 
and  he  calls  out  * '  Twenty-five  lire ! "  "  Twenty- three  lire ! ! " 
"Twenty  lire  and  say  no  more  about  it!!!"  in  an  ascending 
minor  key.  I  still  make  no  reply,  and  he  says  "farewell" 
in  a  manner  that  convinces  me  that  it  is  an  official  dismissal. 
Scarcely  have  I  reached  the  next  set  of  steps  leading  to  the 
water,  when  my  arm  is  touched.  It  is  the  gondolier,  who 
has  rapidly  put  all  his  grief  in  his  pocket,  and  desires  to 
commence  negotiations  on  a  new  basis.  This  time  his 
premise  is  "Fifteen  lire,  and  drinks  for  the  two  boatmen." 
Finally  a  bargain  is  made  on  a  temperance  plan  at  fifteen 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  123 

lire,  (the  lira  is  about  twenty  cents),  and  all  are  satisfied. 
I  am  glad  to  say  that  the  boatmen  received  their  pourboire 
as  well  at  the  close  of  the  evening.  The  regular  rate  would 
have  been  about  one-half  of  this  price,  but  the  gondoliers 
deserve  the  extra  pay.  The  Grand  Canal,  just  below  the 
Museum,  is  about  twice  the  width  of  Broadway,  in  New 
York.  Into  this  space,  on  the  occasion  of  fetes,  the  gon- 
dolas pack  themselves  so  solidly  that  one  could  walk  from 
bank  to  bank  as  on  a  bridge;  yet  there  seem  to  be  none 
crushed  in  and  none  upset.  The  skill  of  the  gondoliers  is 
amazing  to  the  uninitiated.  The  serenade  to  the  queen  took 
place  in  a  barge  decorated  with  lanterns,  rowed  by  twenty 
men,  and  containing  an  orchestra  and  solo  singers.  The 
programme  was  a  long  one  in  a  double  sense,  since  it  ex- 
tended over  two  miles  of  the  canal,  the  barge  moving  from 
place  to  place  at  the  conclusion  of  each  number,  accompa- 
nied by  the  vast  mass  of  gondolas,  while  almost  every  boat 
displayed  bengola  lights  of  various  colors.  The  scene  was 
one  of  fairyland,  and  it  was  one  which  even  the  Venetians  do 
not  have  very  often.  The  following  is  the  programme  of 
pieces,  with  the  names  of  the  places  where  each  was  per- 
formed, and  is  something  of  a  curiosity  in  musical  peripa- 
tetics : 

1.  Fondaco  dei  Turchi — Marcia,  Reale,  orchestra. 

2.  Traghetto  S.  Stae — Sinfonia  nell  'opera  "Aroldo"  di 
Verdi,  orchestra. 

3.  Ca  d'Oro — "Se  tu  m'amassi,"  melodiadi  Denza,  Sig- 
norina  Pucci. 

4.  "Attila"  di  Verdi,  Signorina  De  Benedetti. 

5.  Banca  Nazionale — a,  Giuramento  nell' opera.  "Orazi 
e  Curiazi"  di  Mercadante  scuola  corale;  6,  "Una  notte 
d'amore,"  duettinodi  Campana,  Signorine  Malliani  e  Zuliani. 

6.  Municipio — a,  Sinfonia,  nell'opera  "  Zampa"  di 
Herold,  orchestra;  6,  "Dormi  pure,"  romanza  di  Scuderi, 


124  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Sig.  Scandiani;  c,  Aria  nell 'opera  la  "Favorita"  di  Doni- 
zetti, Signorina  Peticli. 

7.  R.  Corte  d'Appello — "Vieni  al  mar,"  barcarola  a 
due  voci  (parti  raddoppiate)  diErrera,  Signorine  De  Bene- 
detti,  Malliani,  Merini  e  Petich. 

8.  Corte  Dell'albero — uDelizia,"  romanza  di  Beethoven, 
Signorina  Malliani. 

9.  Ca  Foscari — "Dimmi  che  m'anri,"  aria  di  Palloni, 
Signorina  Tivoli. 

10.  S.  Samuele — Duetto  per  mezzo  soprano  e  baritono 
nell 'opera  "Favorita"  di  Donizetti,  Signori  Peticli  e  Scan- 
diani. 

1 1 .  Belle  Art! — Divertimento  per  cornetta,  sopra  motivi 
dell 'opera  "Lucia"  di  Donizetti,  Professor  Cavazza. 

12.  R.  Prefettura — "La  Zingara,"  ballata  di  Donizetti, 
Signorina  Pucci. 

13.  Grand  Hotel — "Vorrei  morir,"  melodia  di  Tosti, 
Sig.  Scandiani. 

14.  Dogana — Cavatina  nell 'opera  "Lucia"  di  Donizetti, 
Signorina  Merini. 

15.  Giardino  Reale — Coro  d'introduzione  nell'opera 
"Isabella  d'Aragona"  di  Pedrotti,  scuola  corale. 

Natural^,  in  an  open-air  performance,  there  was  not  the 
nicety  of  expression  and  shading  that  one  would  find  in  a 
concert  hall,  but  the  vast  crowd,  both  in  the  gondolas  and 
on  the  banks,  were  so  quiet  that  no  part  was  lost.  The 
queen  came  out  at  about  10  r.  m.  in  her  gondola,  and  it  was 
astonishing  to  see  the  seemingly  solid  mass  part  right  and 
left  to  allow  her  to  pass.  I  was  sorry,  however,  to  see  how 
little  enthusiasm  was  awakened  by  her  presence.  Italy 
seemingly  forgets  what  progress  has  been  made  in  twenty 
years,  and  is  full  of  a  rather  vague  radicalism,  which  does 
not  know  entirely  what  ends  it  aims  at 

The  concert  came  to  a  sudden  close  in  a  thunder  storm. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  125 

At  the  eleventh  number  the  air  began  to  grow  chilly,  and 
sudden  gusts  of  wind  to  blow  fiercely.  In  an  instant  the 
whole  scene  changed;  the  boats  suddenly  began  to  scatter, 
and  all  went  flying  up  the  side  alleys,  making  the  shortest 
cuts  for  home.  A  great  deal  of  good  humored  shouting 
and  rapid  rowing  followed,  but  still  no  collision  and  no 
accident 

The  next  evening  I  went  to  the  Lido ,  the  summer  resort  of 
Venice.  Again  it  was  an  open-air  performance,  where  the 
singers  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of  their  voices.  The  chief 
part  of  the  performance  was  given,  not  by  the  throats,  but 
by  the  legs  of  the  performers,  and  consisted  of  a  three-act 
ballet,  with  a  stupid  plot  and  dull  music,  but  a  picturesque 
finale.  The  chief  charm  lay  in  the  fact  that  one  could  eat 
ice  cream  and  drink  coffee  or  wine  during  the  entire  evening. 

How  thoroughly  music  permeates  the  masses  here  cannot 
be  imagined  by  those  who  do  not  hear  it.  I  found  one 
street  singer  who  sang,  with  his  own  guitar  accompaniment, 
songs  by  Tosti ,  Mattei ,  and  other  leading  Italian  composers, 
to  the  ordinary  street  crowds. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  Venice  itself  in  any  man- 
ner. Our  own  painters  have  made  almost  every  American 
familiar  with  its  appearance.  I  need  only  say  that  the 
atmosphere  is  at  times  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  at  times  has 
a  delicate  Indian-summer  haze  about  it  that  adds  to  the 
dreaminess  of  the  place.  The  Hall  of  the  Doges  is  about 
the  only  place  where  gold  and  gilt  effects  are  all  around, 
yet  never  a  taste  of  tinsel  or  tawdriness  is  felt. 

The  guide  who  took  me  through  this  palace  was  a 
character  in  his  way;  he  began  each  discourse  to  the  party 
he  was  piloting  with  "Sirs  and  Ladies !"  as  earnestly  as  if 
he  were  a  mediseval  knight  addressing  a  tournament  audi- 
ence. When  he  came  to  the  great  two-handed  sword  with 
which  one  of  the  doges  used  to  probe  the  infidels,  he  re- 


126  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

marked  "Now-in-the-days  is  no  sir  can  swing"  and  then 
nearly  beheaded  a  couple  of  harmless  tourists  by  shaking  it 
around  in  a  very  wobbly  and  uncertain  manner.  But  I 
fear  that  he  was  not  always  as  truthful  as  George  Washing- 
ton in  his  cherry-tree  days.  He  was  taken  from  his  pedes- 
tal by  a  tourist  from  the  state  of  Ohio,  but  who  was  just 
then  in  a  state  of  perturbation. 

The  party  were  just  leaving  the  prison  beneath  the  palace 
when  the  gentleman  desired  to  be  shown  the  little  window 
of  the  cell  with  an  island  somewhere  in  the  landscape,  which 
he  had  read  about  in  a  recent  poem.  The  guide  with  the 
omniscience  of  all  his  tribe  took  him  upon  the  Bridge  of 
Sighs  where  there  was  a  window,  but  no  island,  (I  suppose 
that  he  would  have  afterwards  have  ferried  him  to  San 
Giorgio  where  there  is  an  island  but  no  window,  and 
averaged  things  up  in  that  manner)  but  the  tourist  protes- 
ted emphatically  that  this  window  was  in  a  cell,  not  on  a 
bridge.  The  guide  was  crestfallen  for  a  moment  at  the 
idea  of  there  being  something  in  the  doge's  palace  which  he 
could  not  exhibit,  and  seeking  an  aged  janitor  began  in- 
quiries in  Italian,  about  the  "piccolo  finestra."  The  jani- 
tor declared  in  the  same  tongue,  that  there  was  nothing  of 
the  kind  in  the  prison,  upon  which  the  guide  rose  to  the 
occasion  and  said  to  the  Ohioan,  "Ah,  yes!  I  know  all  about 
zat  weendow!  Eet  was  here  once!  Eet  is  destroy  in  ze  revo- 
lution of  1848!  \"  That  statement  was  enough  to  have 
saved  Talleyrand  himself,  but  when  a  personally-conducted 
tourist  is  aroused  not  even  the  fabrications  of  a  veteran 
guide  can  stop  him.  "No,"  he  replied,  "I  read  about  it 
in  a  letter  from  Europe,  last  year.  There  are  three  trees 
upon  it!"  A  light  burst  upon  my  brain  then.  I  thought 
of  the  lines 

"And  on  it  there  were  three  tall  trees, 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze.' 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  127 

and  asked,  "Are you  not  thinking  of  the  Castle  of  Chillon?" 
It  was  even  so!  That  sapient  traveler  had  endeavored  to  see 
a  Swiss  island  from  the  heart  of  Italy.  The  guide  tried  to 
smile  his  thanks  and  scowl  his  rebukes  alternately  at  me  and 
the  other  man,  but  his  confidence  had  been  severely  shaken 
and  he  gave  very  few  "Sirs  and  Ladies"  after  that. 

A  point  of  especial,  yet  melancholy  interest  to  me  in 
Venice,  was  the  Palazzo  Yendramini,  in  which  Wagner 
died.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  servant  and  a  gon- 
dolier who  had  known  "Wagner,  and  from  them  gleaned  a 
few  interesting  facts  about  the  Venetian  vacation  which  had 
such  a  tragic  ending.  The  Italian  musicians  were  disposed 
to  honor  "Wagner,  but  scarcely  knew  how  to  set  about  it. 
One  day,  as  he  approached  the  square  of  St.  Marks,  where 
the  band  was  playing,  the  leader  saw  him  and  at  once  began 
a  potpourri  from  "Tannhauser,"  but  was  astonished  to  see 
the  master  clap  his  hands  to  his  ears  and  make  off  as  quickly 
as  he  could.  It  was  one  of  those  public  disavowals  of  his 
earlier  works  in  which  Wagner  sometimes  indulged .  I  heard 
man}?-  tales  about  the  sumptuous  style  in  which  the  study 
of  the  palace  was  furnished  during  Wagner's  sojourn. 
He  frequently  had  it  refitted  according  to  the  work  on  which 
he  was  engaged,  for  Wagner  was  greatly  influenced  by  ex- 
ternals. In  this  same  study  he  met  his  solitary  death.  As 
there  are  so  many  false  accounts  of  this  event  it  may  be  well 
to  give  the  details  here.  Wagner  had  planned  for  an  ex- 
cursion on  the  fatal  day,  but  not  feeling  in  the  mood  for  it 
in  the  morning,  he  countermanded  the  gondola  and  set  him- 
self to  work.  On  his  "gray  days,"  as  he  called  the  days 
when  he  was  out  of  sorts,  he  generally  dined  (at  mid-day, 
in  the  German  fashion),  quite  alone,  that  he  might  not 
inflict  his  ill  humor  upon  those  whom  he  loved.  On  this 
day  he  took  his  meal  in  the  study.  No  one  was  allowed  to 
cross  the  threshhold  of  that  sanctum,  and  when  the  servant 


128  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

(Betty  Biirkel)  heard  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  followed  by 
groaning,  she  did  not  dare,  at  first,  to  enter.  In  a  moment, 
however,  she  heard  Wagner  call  her  name,  and  rushed  to 
him  at  once.  He  had  just  strength  enough  to  gasp  out, 
"My  wife, — and  the  doctor."  Madame  Wagner  was  at  his 
side  in  an  instant;  in  a  few  moments  the  spasm  passed,  and 
his  wife  thought  that  he  was  sleeping  in  her  arms,  but  he 
was  dead.     The  few  words  given  above  were  his  last. 

Just  before  leaving  Venice  I  saw  a  most  peculiar  arrest. 
All  the  Venetians  swim  like  ducks,  but  the  police  regula- 
tions enforce  a  bathing  suit  if  the  ablutions  are  taken  in  the 
public  canals .  A  sturdy  workman  had  plunged  in  regardless 
of  the  police  and  of  bathing  tights;  he  had,  however, 
trusted  too  much  to  providence,  and  he  was  dismayed  to 
find  an  officer  standing  guard  over  his  scanty  wardrobe  on 
the  bank  when  he  desired  to  revisit  terra  firma.  He  left 
his  clothes  to  the  State  and  swam  up  the  canal,  but  the  police 
were  on  their  mettle,  and  finally,  as  he  saw  two  officers 
getting  ready  to  swim  in  after  him,  he  decided  to  avoid  a 
naval  combat  by  coming  ashore  and  surrendering  himself. 
Here  a  vehement  conversation  took  place  in  the  midst  of  an 
admiring  crowd  of  both  sexes.  The  man  was  in  the  costume 
of  Adam,  before  the  fall,  (not  that  I  suppose  that  Adam 
wore  a  summer  suit  before  the  fall) ,  but  even  that  did  not 
quench  the  interest  of  the  fair  Venitiennes  in  the  matter, 
which  was  finally  ended  by  the  swimmer  being  marched, 
pur  is  naturalibus,  to  the  nearest  police  station. 

From  Venice  to  Florence  :  but  bella  Firenze  needs  no 
eulogy  of  mine.  I  might  as  well  write  about  the  discovery 
of  America  as  about  the  beauties  of  the  Venus  de  Medici  or 
the  Fornarina  of  Raphael.  But  one  piece  of  advice  to  the 
flying  tourist  may  be  given:  in  the  Uffizi  and  Pitti  galleries 
are  miles  of  paintings;  do  not  try  to  see  them  all  unless  you 
have  at  least  a  month  to  spare;  you  will  only  achieve  a 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  129 

chromatic  nightmare;  go  rather  to  the  Uffizi  gallery,  and 
having  seated  yourself  in  the  tribuna ,  stay  there  all  day.    In 
that  room  is  the  cream  of  the  entire  art  of  Florence,  and 
this  at  least  you  can  digest  and  carry  home  with  you  to 
beautify  your  life  forevermore.     The  great  trouble  with  the 
lightning  tourist  is  that  he  is  bound  to  see  it  all,  and  the 
result  is  that  nothing  is  retained.     In  George  Washington 
Phipps  that  eminent  playwright,  Mr.  Bronson  Howard,  has 
not  overdrawn  this  species  of  human  flea,  and  it  is  a  more 
pitiable  species  than  even  the  gentle  and  sheeplike  "Cookie" 
who   follows   his   leader    patiently   through  the  European 
mazes.     From  Florence  I  went  directly  to  Rome,  reserving 
Milan  for  the  return  trip. 

Of  Rome,  too,  it  is  necessary  to  say  but  little,  since  I 
have  promised  to  give  no  statistical  information,  and 
Baedecker  can  give  all  the  necessary  raptures  about  the  old 
buildings  and  churches,  and  the  romance  of  the  city  has 
been  told  all  the  way  from  Hawthorne,  to  James,  and  Marion 

Crawford . 

In  Rome  I  was  forcibly  impressed  with  the  lack  of  com- 
munication of  one  city  with  another  in  Italy.     Some  of  the 
hotel  keepers  were  afraid  to  receive  visitors  from  Naples,  as 
they  feared  that  the  cholera  might  be  brought  from  there. 
Meanwhile  Naples,  (not  half  so  far  off  as  New  York  is  from 
Boston) ,  was  enjoying  the  best  of  health.     Along  with  this 
lack  of  communication  I  found  another  feeling,  which  is 
more  deplorable  for  united  Italy.      Each  city  is  jealous  of 
the  other.     Florence,  Rome,  Naples  and  Milan  all  dislike 
each  other.      Really,  united  Italy  is  a  far-off  matter  yet. 
But  the  government  acts  wisely  in  allowing  all  possible 
liberty  to  the  opposition .    Even  the  republicans  can  sputter 
with  comparative  safety.     I  was  sorry  to  hear  an  American 
in  an  after-dinner  speech  in  Italy  express  the  hope  that  the 
country  might  soon  be  a  republic.     Not  every  nation  is  fit 


130  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

at  once  for  self-government.  The  French  republic  of  1793 
was  very  different  from  that  of  1896.  If  one  only  looks 
back  at  the  Italy  of  twenty  years  ago  and  compares  it  with 
that  of  to-day,  instead  of  only  looking  at  the  flaws  of  the 
present  nation,  it  would  be  easier  to  let  well  enough  alone. 
It  seems  hard  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  Hercules  who  has 
cleaned  the  Augaean  stables,  because  he  has  not  yet  made 
them  as  neat  as  a  Dutch  cottage. 

About  Rome,  as  about  Naples ,  there  are  many  falsehoods 
circulated,  and  Roman  fever  will  be  a  bugbear  so  long  as 
"Daisy  Miller"  is  read.  The  fact  is,  that  if  one  will  take 
reasonable  precautions  with  regard  to  sudden  changes  from 
heat  to  cold,  and  will  sleep  with  closed  windows,  there  need 
be  no  fear.  But  it  is  really  difficult  for  the  stranger  to  take 
care  of  himself  amid  the  thousand  and  one  wonderful  sights 
of  Rome. 

The  excavations  are  being  pushed  forward  rapidly 
by  the  government,  and  constant  additions  are  made  to 
the  valuable  antiquities.  Among  these  is  a  representation 
of  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem ,  (on  the  base  of  a  drinking 
cup),  with  some  emblems  which  Mr.  Forbes,  the  antiqu- 
arian, claims  to  be  Masonic.  I  will  leave  this  point  to  be 
discussed  by  the  fraternity, along  with  Hiram  Abiff. 

I  had  an  apt  illustration  of  the  deceptive  size  of  objects 
in  St.  Peter's,  in  Rome.  A  lady,  after  expressing  her  dis- 
appointment at  the  size  of  the  edifice,  was  charmed  writh 
what  she  termed  some  "lovely  little  cherubs"  at  the  side. 
I  went  and  stood  beside  them,  and  found  them  to  be  three 
or  four  inches  higher  than  myself  !  These  little  cherubs 
were  six  feet  and  a  half  high!  So  I  find  that  my  size  will 
not  debar  me  from  going  into  the  cherub  business  in  Rome. 

Everything  in  St.  Peter's  is  so  symmetrical  that  no  mor- 
tal being  can  appreciate  the  size  of  things;  the  colonnade 
outside,  breaks  the  first  impression  of  immensity  and  sub- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  131 

stitutes  that  of  symmetry,  and  Moses'  pencil  with  which  he 
is  writing  down  the  law,  although  it  is  about  ten  feet  long, 
does  not  impress  one  as  more  ponderous  than  an  ordinary 
stylograph,  and  looks  as  if  it  would  not  provoke  half  as 
much  profanity  as  the  latter. 

I  was  more  impressed  with  the  polyglot  confessionals 
which  lined  the  church;  here  at  least  was  something  vast 
which  the  human  mind  could  comprehend.  Every  language 
of  the  civilized  (and  some  of  the  uncivilized)  world  was 
there.  I  think  that  if  my  cherished  emigration  agent  had 
come  down  from  Hamburg  to  confess  the  theft  of  that  rail- 
way time  table,  he  would  have  found  a  priest  ready  to  hear 
him  and  absolve  him  in  "Welsh.  But  one  must  beware  of 
the  churches,  in  a  temporal  and  strict^  hygienic  sense. 
Many  a  tourist  gets  heated  in  the  streets  of  Rome  and  then 
spends  an  hour  or  so  in  this  or  that  church.  As  a  rule  he 
might  as  well  spend  the  time  in  an  ice  chest,  and  he  need 
not  wonder,  the  next  day,  if  he  is  sick. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  to  feel  the  antiquity  of  Rome, 
one  must  visit  the  Coliseum  by  moonlight.  I  felt  more  im- 
pressed, however,  by  the  view  on  the  Appian  Way,  in  a 
summer  sunset.  The  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella  was  tinged 
with  the  warm,  glowing  color;  the  vast  circus  of  Maxentius 
was  half  in  twilight;  everything  was  still  with  summer  eve- 
ning tranquility.  It  did  not  take  a  great  stretch  of  fancy 
to  shape  the  shadows  that  came  gradually  down  upon  the 
Appian  Way, into  the  ghosts  of  the  old  Roman  life.  It  re- 
quired a  greater  stretch  of  fancy  to  imagine  the  cruel 
"  thumbs  down  "  of  the  Coliseum  which  consigned  the  un- 
fortunate gladiator  to  his  execution.  How  many  a  general 
had  camped  out  on  that  road,  waiting  for  the  dawn  when 
he  might  enter  Rome  in  triumph!  How  many  a  captive 
waited  there  in  anguish,  before  his  dreadful  walk  in  that 
same  triumph ,  a  walk  which  often  ended  with  decapitation 


132  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

on  the  Capitoline  Hill.  The  Coliseum  represents  the  brutal 
sports  of  ancient  Rome,  but  the  Appian  Way  is  its  history. 
If  the  tourist  in  Rome  desires  to  make  sure  of  returning 
to  the  Eternal  City  at  some  later  time  in  his  wandering 
career,  he  can  attain  this  result  in  a  very  simple  manner.  It 
is  done  by  a  brief  incantation .  He  must  go  to  the  beautiful 
Trevi  Fountain  at  midnight,  and  after  drinking  a  glass  of 
its  water  must  throw  the  glass  over  his  shoulder,  into  the 
basin,  a  proceeding  which  is  good  for  the  dealers  in  crockery 
ware,  and  can  do  the  tourist  no  harm  beyond  the  chance  of 
catching  malarial  fever  by  being  out  so  late.  This  same 
Trevi  water  is  very  sweet  and  pure,  yet  not  too  hard  for 
washing  purposes.  The  Roman  is  splendidly  supplied  with 
water  and  for  this  he  owes  thanks  to  the  ancient  dwellers  in 
the  city,  for  imperial  Rome  built  aqueducts  enough  to  sup- 
ply a  nation,  and  these  are  used  by  the  present  inhabitants. 
In  the  house  of  Mr.  S.  Russell  Forbes,  the  celebrated  anti- 
quarian, I  found  two  kinds  of  water  laid  on,  and  this  is  the 
case  in  many  of  the  better  class  of  houses.  The  second  va- 
riety of  water  is  the  cold  Aqua  Marcia,  which  comes  from 
the  Marcian  hills  far  away,  and  which  is  just  a  trifle  danger- 
ous to  the  overheated  pedestrian . 

Apart  from  the  regular  sights,  I  found  considerable  pleas- 
ure in  going  about  among  the  antiquarian  stores  in  Rome; 
but  I  must  warn  intending  purchasers  among  my  readers 
never  to  buy  without  the  assistance  of  an  expert.  The  man- 
ufacture of  antiquities  is  one  of  the  most  paying  of  Italy's 
modern  arts,  and  when  we  consider  that  there  are  counter- 
feits dating  back  even  to  the  fifteenth  century,  one  can 
imagine  that  the  chance  of  obtaining  relics  of  very  "  un- 
certain date  "  is  quite  large. 

But  not  only  the  purchase  of  antiquities,  but  every  kind 
of  shopping  is  a  difficult  matter  to  the  American  in  Italy. 
It  is  totally  different  from  purchasing  what  you  want  in 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  133 

America.  Beware  of  showing  eagerness  to  acquire  any  spe- 
cial thing  in  an\-  Italian  shop,  for  the  price  will  ascend  in 
direct  ratio.  If  it  is  only  a  necktie  there  will  be  seven  or 
eight  falling  cadences  in  the  price.  On  the  other  hand, 
some  American  buyers,  exaggerating  the  fear  of  this  cus- 
tom, have  let  excellent  offers  pass  by  unheeded,  to  their 
unavailing  regret,  after  leaving  the  country.  But  it  is  well 
to  distrust  the  courier  or  guide  who  offers  to  help  you  in 
making  your  purchases  without  charge,  for  he  will  receive 
his  stipend  in  the  shape  of  a  handsome  commission  from  the 
shopkeeper.  I  had  a  startling  instance  of  this  in  Venice 
once,  when  helping  a  friend  in  the  purchase  of  some  of  the 
silver  filagree  bracelets  for  which  the  city  is  renowned.  The 
shopkeeper  came  very  nearly  down  to  a  fair  price,  but  there 
all  further  efforts  to  "bear"  the  market  failed,  and  the 
reason  soon  came  to  the  surface,  for  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation he  turned  to  me  and  inquired,  in  Italian,  "How  much 
do  you  expect  in  this?"  After  that  it  was  easy  to  conclude 
the  bargain,  but  my  friend  was  astonished  to  receive  a  good 
part  of  the  purchase  money  back  from  me,  that  evening, 
for  I  could  not  refrain  from  tasting,  even  temporarily,  the 
sweets  of  a  courier's  existence.  There  are  some  honorable 
exceptions  to  the  above  rule,  but  the}'  are  like  angel's 
visits,  few  and  far  between. 

And  now  I  hasten  southward  to  seek  the  most  beautiful, 
the  most  interesting,  and  the  most  dirty  city,  outside  of 
Rome,  in  all  Italy.  The  old  proverb,  "See  Naples  and  then 
die"  has  had  a  rather  intimidating  effect  on  many  travelers 
who  believe  that  the  latter  part  will  be  the  legitimate  out- 
come of  the  first.  Never  were  mortals  more  mistaken. 
With  reasonable  precautions,  an  avoidance  of  the  water  and 
of  the  terribly  odorous  alle}'s  of  the  place,  Naples  is  as 
healthy  as  New  York,  and  ten  times  as  varied  and  beau- 
tiful. 


134  EUROPEAN  REMTNTSCENCES. 

The  tables  of  mortality  show  a  different  tale;  but  one 
must  recollect  that  the  mortality  is  among  the  children, 
(of  whom  forty  per  cent,  die) ,  and  that  these,  even  with  this 
drain,  remain  as  numerous  as  flies  in  mid-summer.  Why 
these  die  is  easy  enough  to  explain.  Early  one  morning  I 
walked  through  one  of  the  numerous  alle}^,  about  six 
feet  wide,  teeming  with  traffic,  reeking  with  smells,  and 
almost  without  sunlight;  seeing  a  tailor's  shop,  I  took  occa- 
sion to  have  a  slight  repair  made  in  order  to  view  the 
place;  there  was  but  one  room,  about  eight  by  fifteen  feet, 
in  which  were  the  tailor's  implements,  the  household  uten- 
sils, (the  Lares  and  Penates  were  humble  enough) ,  three 
persons  were  busy  at  work  and  six,  including  two  children, 
still  in  their  beds.  One  of  the  men,  awakened  by  the  sud- 
den entrance  of  a  stranger,  turned  around  in  his  bed,  raised 
himself  to  his  elbow,  and  gazed  at  me  for  a  moment  with  a 
languid  interest;  but  I  was  a  complete  failure  as  a  sustained 
attraction,  and  he  turned  around  very  soon  and  went  to 
sleep  again.  The  atmosphere  in  the  place  was  at  a  pressure 
of  about  70,000  pounds  to  the  square  inch,  and  reminded 
me  of  the  Danish  cheese  factories.  After  that  sight  I  un- 
derstood the  mortality.  To  be  sure,  many  of  the  trades  are 
pursued  just  outside  the  door  of  the  domicile,  but  here,  too 
the  air  is  bad,  and  they  only  enjoy  about  fifteen  hours  even 
of  that.  I  shudder  to  think  of  the  other  nine  hours.  Nat- 
urally disease  and  immorality  follow,  yet  not  so  much  of 
the  latter  as  one  would  suppose,  for  the  Neapolitans  have 
something  of  the  submissive  religious  principles  of  the  Irish, 
whom  they  resemble  in  more  ways  than  one.  Never  was 
there  a  more  light-hearted,  good  humored  race.  I  saw 
boys  of  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  working  at  the  most 
fatiguing  manual  labor,  yet  smiling  and  joking  even  at 
their  task.  The  northern  and  central  Italians  tell  you  that 
the  Neapolitans  are  not  Italians  at   all,  and  when  you  ask 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  135 

what  they  may  be,  the  answer  is  "They  are  Moors."  It  is 
not  unlikely  that  the  Moorish  blood  has  mingled  with  four 
or  five  other  currents  to  make  the  Neapolitan.  Such  a  pop- 
ulation never  was  seen.  There  are  about  800,000  souls 
(providing  that  each  inhabitant  has  one)  in  Naples  and  its 
immediate  environs .  The  city  is  a  narrow  ribbon ,  extend- 
ing in  a  semi-circle  along  the  banks  of  the  bay.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  it  to  broaden,  since  steep  mountains  are  at 
the  back,  but  with  facilities  it  can  lengthen,  and  there  is  a 
scheme  on  foot  which  ought  to  relieve  the  overcrowded 
allej^s  of  their  tremendous  pressure.  Mr.  A.  G.  Caprani 
(of  the  Hotel  Royal  des  Etrangeres)  gave  me  the  first  details 
of  the  plan  of  a  metropolitan  railroad,  which  seems  to  be 
the  crying  necessity  of  the  city.  It  is  to  combine  the  tunnel 
and  surface  with  the  elevated  system,  since  the  topography 
of  Naples  demands  all  three.  Tunneling  is  a  matter  of  the 
greatest  ease  in  southern  Italy,  since  the  tufa  stone  cuts  like 
cheese,  and  then  hardens  on  exposure  to  the  air. 

Signor  Caprani  was  the  kindest  of  friends  during  my 
visits  to  Naples,  and  he  is  an  ideal  host  to  all  Americans 
who  come  to  this  city.  He  was  much  interested  in  some 
comparisons  I  drew  between  Brindisi  and  Naples  (for  I  be- 
lieve that  Naples  can  be  made  the  chief  port  of  Italy  for  all 
commerce) ,  and  as  we  became  better  acquainted  he  deter- 
mined to  give  me  a  public  breakfast,  to  which  he  invited 
the  leading:  English  and  American  residents  who  were  in  the 
city  in  the  summer  time.  One  most  prominent  Italian  was 
present,  however;  it  was  the  owner  of  the  famous  Lacryma 
Ohristi  vineyard,  on  Vesuvius.  The  real  Lacryma  Christi 
is  about  as  rare  as  the  real  Johannisberger ,  and  when  I  state 
that  this  gentleman  brought  a  few  bottles  of  this  precious 
vintage  with  him,  it  may  be  judged  that  his  passport  to 
American  citizenship  on  that  occasion,  was  not  rejected.  At 
this  most  pleasant  breakfast ,  which  at  my  request  was  cooked 


136  EUROPEAN   REMINISCENCES. 

entirely  in  Milanese  style  (with  Risotto,  maccaroni  and  the 
Vesuvian  wine),  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  genial 
English  doctor — Mr.  Berrenger — (who  told  me  that  eighteen 
years  of  Naples  had  not  been  unhealthy  to  him),  and 
also  Mr.  Lamont  Young,  to  whom  the  great  railway  will 
owe  its  existence.  At  the  invitation  of  the  latter  gentleman 
I  visited  his  villa,  the  most  beautiful  in  all  Naples,  once 
owned  by  King  Ferdinand  I. — the  Villa  Lucia.  The  noble 
mansion  rests  on  the  summit  of  one  of  the  high  hills  back  of 
the  city,  and  we  sat  sipping  tea  in  the  glow  of  a  tropical 
sunset,  with  Naples  gleaming  far  below  us.  Villa  Lucia 
interested  me  far  more, however,  in  another  sense.  It  is  the 
home  and  laboratory  of  an  inventor  and  scientist.  Mr. 
Young  (also  an  Englishman,  who  has  by  choice  become  a 
Neapolitan)  showed  me  many  of  his  plans  for  the  develop- 
ment of  Naples;  but  it  was  especially  interesting  to  note  the 
cautious  way  in  which  he  developed  the  various  steps  of  his 
railroad  scheme.  First  he  took,  at  his  own  expense,  a  cen- 
sus of  certain  of  the  districts  through  which  the  road  is  to 
run,  and  which  it  intended  to  relieve;  next  he  cut  a  tunnel 
on  his  own  grounds  to  demonstrate  the  expense  of  this  part 
of  the  work;  then  he  had  geological  surveys  made,  and  in 
this  manner  he  has  made  tentative  efforts  to  introduce  the 
scheme.  It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  do.  The  Neapolitan 
is  content  to  leave  things  the  way  he  finds  them.  In  any 
other  city  of  such  size  one  would  at  once  say  that  the  plan 
was  sure  to  be  a  gold  mine  to  its  projectors;  in  Naples,  who 
can  predict?  Will  the  Neapolitan  ride  in  the  steam  car  when 
he  has  the  chance?  I  have  seen  numbers  of  people  in  southern 
Italy  who  never  entered  a  railway  train  in  their  lives,  and 
who  never  intend  to.  Many  of  the  Neapolitans  of  the  lower 
class  live  in  their  little  alleyways  as  if  they  loved  them,  and 
scarcely  care  for  anything  like  travel,  even  to  the  suburbs. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  137 

In  Naples  I  also  met  the  agent  of  the  Pullman  Car  Co., 
Mr.  Wildhagen,  who  told  me  of  the  difficulties  he  had  en- 
countered in  accustoming  the  southern  Italians  to  a  com- 
fortable mode  of  traveling.  Now  these  obstacles  have  been 
surmounted,  and  I  watched  the  departure  and  arrival  of 
trains  in  the  cars  of  which  passengers  had  no  more  discomfort 
than  in  America. 

To  illustrate  the  ingenious  ways  which  are  necessary  to 
overcome  Naple's  undeserved  bad  name,  I  need  only  men- 
tion Mr.  Caprani's  mode  of  setting  the  public  mind  right 
upon  the  climate  question.  On  every  letter  leaving  his 
hotel  he  stamps  the  record  of  the  thermometer  and  barometer 
at  the  time  of  departure.  There  is  no  question  about  the 
fact  that  Naples  has  a  great  future.  Already  the  question 
of  bad  water  has  been  settled  by  the  commencement  of 
great  aqueducts,  which  are  to  bring  splendid  water  from 
mountains  forty  miles  away.  When  better  drainage  and 
transportation  facilities  follow ,  Naples  will  be  the  New  York 
of  Italy,  and  its  environs  the  most  beautiful  pleasure  re- 
sorts of  the  world.  I  earnestly  wish  that  the  first  forward 
step  might  be  the  formation  of  a  "Society  for  the  preven- 
tion of  cruelty  to  animals . ' '  Such  an  institution  does  exist , 
but  it  is  a  mummy  beside  our  society  with  the  long  name. 
The  poor  donkeys  are  murdered  by  inches.  They  are 
loaded  beyond  credence.  I  saw  a  high  heap  of  brushwood 
moving  along  the  road  one  day.  Wonder-struck  at  the 
miracle,  I  walked  around  it  and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  a 
thin  tail  sticking  out  of  the  heap.  The  mystery  was  ex- 
plained; somewere  beneath  the  heap  was  a  donkey.  This 
deduction  was  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  the  driver  soon 
came  to  that  part  of  the  heap  to  kick.  On  my  remon- 
strating, he  calmly  told  me  that  a  donkey  was  not  a 
christian! 

I  have  spoken  about  the  swarms  of  children,  let  me  also 


138  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

speak  of  the  hosts  of  beggars .  At  every  turn  there  is  some 
one  to  waylay  you.  They  do  it  so  frankly,  and  with  such 
a  business-like  air,  that  it  has  the  charm  of  naivete.  At 
Torre  del  Greco,  on  my  way  to  Mt. 'Vesuvius,  I  saw  a  man 
and  boy  very  contentedly  seated  under  a  tree.  As  soon  as 
the  elder  saw  us,  he  rose  hastily,  tossed  his  hat  to  the 
boy,  and  lifted  up  his  voice  pathetically,  "Sono,  povero, 
slgnorl  una  piccolo  soldo . "  But  one  cannot  give  even  soldi 
to  every  beggar,  and  as  this  one  did  not  inspire  my  confi- 
dence, I  drove  on  in  silence,  whereupon  the  irate  gentleman 
ventilated  the  hope  that  Vesuvius  might  fall  down  on  my 
head.     It  was  a  vivid  contrast. 

I  noticed  that  some  Neapolitans  did  not  speak  to  the 
beggars,  but  made  signs.  I  asked  Signor  Caprani  what 
these  signs  meant.  He  taught  me  to  make  two  or  three  of 
them.  The  next  day  I  practiced  my  new  accomplishment 
with  telling  effect.  A  beggar  began  his  song  at  the  side  of 
my  carriage  (never  walk  when  you  can  ride,  in  Naples), 
whereupon  I  put  my  thumb  near  my  chin ,  and  wiggled  my 
forefinger;  the  mendicant  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  as  if 
I  were  a  new  and  strange  sort  of  native  Neapolitan,  and 
then,  knowing  that  blondes  did  not  grow  in  southern  Italy 
he  made  up  his  mind  that  my  gesture  was  merely  an  odd 
coincidence,  and  began  all  over  again,  whereupon  I  put  four 
fingers  under  my  chin,  and  waved  my  hand;  on  seeing  this 
he  silently  withdrew.  I  had  told  him  first,  "I  have  noth- 
ing for  you,"  and  then,  "You  said  all  that  before!"  Not 
only  the  beggars  but  the  cabmen  can  do  business  by  the 
signal  code.  You  approach  and  point  to  the  cab  with  the 
little  finger:  "I  want  a  short  drive  for  half  a  franc."  The 
cabman  shaken  his  head — "No;"  or  gives  it  a  little  side 
jerk— "Get  in!" 

Naples  has  no  real  pleasure  ground  for  the  people,  so  they 
transform  the  whole  city  into  one;  but  there  is  music  in  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  139 

evening  at  the  new  embankment,  where  you  can  walk  for 
nothing,  but  you  must  pay  two  soldi,  (a  soldo  is  a  cent), 
for  a  chair,  and  can  listen  to  rather  poor   dance  music. 
Posilippo  is  the  finest  suburb  of  Naples.     One  can  reach  it 
by  tramway  (horse  cars)  and  enjoy  glorious  views  of  the 
bay  and  of  Vesuvius.     There  are  restaurants  here  where  one 
can  sit  in  grottos  cut  into  the  rock,  or  tufa,  and  sip  light 
wine  at  an  absurdly  low  cost.     There  is  much  architecture 
at  Posilippo  that  astonishes  a  stranger,  since  many  of  the 
houses  are  not  built,  but  excavated,  being  entirely  of  one 
piece  of  stone!     Many  of  the  Neapolitan  houses  are  gayly 
painted,  red  and  yellow  being  predominant  colors,  which 
gives  the  whole  place  a  rather  stagy  appearance .     The  colors 
soon  fade,  and  are  absorbed,  and  " spread"  into  the  tufa  as 
nto  a  blotting  pad.     Sometimes  the  entire  architecture  is 
painted  on  the  house,  arches  above  the  windows,  statues, 
cornices,  columns,  etc. ,  being  all  the  product  of  the  painter's 
brush  and  not  the  sculptor's  chisel.     When  these  begin  to 
fade  the  resemblance  to  stage  scenery  is  very  marked .     In 
one  country  place  I  saw  an  entire  dead  wall  of  a  house  made 
lively  by  numerous  windows,  blinds,  curtains,  children  look- 
ing out,  etc.,  all  painted  on  the  stone.     I  must  state   that 
all  the  Neapolitans  assure  me  that  their  city  has  made  im- 
mense strides  since  King  Bomba  has  been  set  aside.     It  is 
refreshing  to  see  such  a  city  grow,  for  once  it  was  the  abode 
of  tyranny  and  intolerance;  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the 
past  begins  to  take  place  in  the  ranks  of  the  present,  but  the 
progress  must  naturally  be  gradual.     I   cannot    close   the 
cadenza  about  Naples  without  speaking  of  an  occurrence  at 
the  post  office  there,  when  I  mailed  a  letter  to  America.     I 
registered  it  without  difficulty,  when  suddenly  the  official 
asked,  "Where  are  the  five  seals?"     On  inquiring  into  his 
meaning,  it  was  discovered  that  registered  letters  must  have 


140  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

five  seals  to  secure  their  safe  condition.  I  was  about  to 
comply  with  this  regulation  when  the  gentleman  said, 
"JScusate,  signor,  I  see  that  this  goes  to  America.  Letters 
to  South  America  and  Africa  are  allowed  without  sealing 
wax,  since  the  melting  of  the  wax  spoils  other  postal  mat- 
ter." I  thanked  him,  but  said  that  this  letter  was  not  for 
South  America,  but  for  the  United  States.  "That's  all  the 
same  thing,"  he  responded,  "since  it  has  to  pass  the  equator, 
anyway!"  That  was  an  unexpected  and  original  lesson  in 
geography. 

Of  Pompeii  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak  in  extenso,  since 
every  detail  both  in  print  and  picture  is  in  every  large 
library.  It  may  be  borne  in  mind  by  the  reader  that  only 
about  one-third  or  one-half  of  the  city  is  as  yet  uncovered. 
In  America  it  would  have  been  unearthed  many  years  ago, 
nor  would  Ilerculaneum  be  suffered  to  retain  all  of  its  mys- 
tery, as  it  does  to-day.  When  all  the  treasures  have  been 
gathered  we  may  know  something  about  the  music  of  the 
ancient  world,  for  it  is  probable  enough  that  a  musical 
library  of  some  sort  will  be  discovered,  and  then  we  shall 
no  longer  rely  upon  the  three  doubtful  manuscripts  of 
ancient  Greek  music,  (discovered  in  Messina  in  the  16th 
century) ,  for  all  our  knowledge  of  the  pre-christian  sj^stem 
of  music. 

It  is  pleasant  to  go  to  Pompeii  from  Naples  by  coach,  or 
on  foot,  for  the  road  through  Portici,  Torre  del  Greco  and 
Torre  del  Annunziata,  is  a  varied  and  interesting  one.  But 
do  not  stop  to  look  at  the  maccaroni  factories,  for  it  will 
cause  you  to  have  unpleasant  memories  while  eating  that 
species  of  food  thereafter.  The  veil  of  mystery  had  better 
remain  over  the  processes,  the  appearance  of  the  workmen, 
and  the  number  of  dirty  children  who  roll  around  in  the 
product  before  it  gets  to  market.     Besides  maccaroni,  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  HI 

production  of  children  seems  to  be  the  chief  industry  of 
these  towns.  If  "a  babe  in  the  house  is  a  well-spring  of 
pleasure,"  as  Tupper  says,  then  these  people  had  better  "let 
well  enough  alone,"  for  they  are  nearly  drowned  out  with 
their  numerous  " well-springs." 


142  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

casamicciola a  terrific  earthquake scenes  in  a  de- 
vastated country the  death  of  an  english  pianist 

the  fatal  termination  of  a  concert a  liee  saved 

by  chopin's  funeral  march — pisa — milan — lake  como 
an  impromptu  musicale. 

It  was  in  July,  1883,  that  one  of  the  most  terrific  catas- 
trophes of  modern  times  took  place,  only  a  few  miles  from 
Naples.  I  was  then  in  that  citjr,  and  in  my  capacity  of 
foreign  correspondent  to  the  American  press,  was  supplied 
with  a  permit  to  visit  the  island  of  Ischia,  where  the  dread 
calamity  had  occurred.  This  chapter  will  sing  a  very  mel- 
ancholy minor  strain  in  consequence,  for  the  sights  on  the 
island  were  the  most  dismal  that  I  ever  witnessed.  Armed 
with  my  permit,  it  was  not  difficult  to  reach  the  island, 
although  the  journey  in  a  small  boat,  crowded  with  soldiery, 
surgeons ,  ambulance  corps ,  etc . ,  was  uncomfortable  enough . 
On  passing  the  port  of  Ischia  I  looked  in  vain  for  any  signs 
of  the  calamity.  The  beautiful  island  was  crowned  with 
lovely  vineyards  and  rich  mansions  in  a  manner  which 
showed  undisturbed  prosperity.  Rounding  a  point  on  the 
west  side  of  the  island,  all  was  changed  in  a  moment. 
Casamicciola  had  been  to  Italy  what  Newport  is  to  New 
England  and  New  York.  Vast  hotels,  beautiful  alleys  of 
trees,  drives,  great  bathing  establishments,  had  made  it  one 
of  the  most  attractive  summer  resorts.     It  nestled  on  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  143 

slope  of  a  hill  which  stood  in  front  of  a  semicircle  of  high 
but  richly  cultivated  mountains.  Of  all  its  architectural 
beauty  scarcely  a  trace  remained.  At  the  water's  edge 
were  what  seemed  to  be  elegant  residences,  but,  on  approach- 
ing,  it  was  at  once  evident  that  the  interior  was  one  mass 
of  crushed  masonry.  Farther  up  the  slope,  the  beautiful 
streets  were  more  entirely  obliterated;  chasms  yawned  in 
the  middle  of  the  road;  few  walls  even  were  stand  ing,  while 
amidst  the  debris  one  could  see  pathetic  indications  of  the 
fashionable  pleasure  resort — bits  of  lace,  a  once  elegant 
bonnet,  now  draggled  and  blood-stained,  fine  engravings 
still  hanging  on  a  single  wall  which  stood  above  one  of  the 
heaps  of  death.  Even  the  natural  scenery  was  partially 
effaced;  a  whole  vineyard  had  slid  down  from  a  hill  above 
the  town  and  added  its  debris  to  the  general  crash.  At 
9.50  on  Saturday  evening,  July  28,  1883,  the  city  was  a 
flourishing  watering  place;  fifteen  seconds  later  it  was  a 
terrible  cemetery,  with  many  of  the  living  buried  with  the 
dead. 

I  saw  two  clocks  taken  from  the  ruins  which  pointed  to 
the  hour  of  destruction  with  silent  accuracy .  It  was  due  to 
the  hour  of  the  shock  that  so  many  were  killed .  Many  had 
retired  for  the  night,  and  I  saw  some  of  these,  still  covered 
with  the  bedclothes,  who  were  mercifully  killed  before 
awakening.  Others  were  in  their  drawing-rooms  listening 
to  music,  or  reading,  when  the  sudden  bolt  fell.  I  spoke 
with  many  regarding  the  manner  of  the  shock.  The  lower 
classes  were  naturally  imaginative  and  spoke  of  balls  of  fire 
and  fearful  darkness,  and  other  phenomena,  which  probably 
had  no  part  in  the  catastrophe;  but  some  of  the  guests  of 
the  place  told  me  that  a  shivering,  rumbling  sound  was 
heard,  then  the  side  of  the  hill  fell  down,  then  the  earth 
seemed  to  rise  upward,  followed  by  a  side  motion  (it  was 
this  twitch  which  crumbled  all  the  houses),  then  followed  a 


144  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

moment's  absolute  silence,  and  all  was  obscured  by  dust, 
and  then  the  babel  of  shrieks  and  lamentations  burst  forth. 
I  fear  that  my  pen  can  do  only  scant  justice  to  the  scene, 
but  the  result  has  not  been  exaggerated;  the  dead  numbered 
over  3,000  in  Casamicciola  alone.  In  coming  so  soon  after 
the  disaster,  I  had  the  advantage  of  speaking  with  many  of 
the  survivors,  although  their  grief  and  agitation  was  yet 
scarcely  under  control.  One  of  the  most  pitiable  of  these 
I  met  on  the  boat  going  to  the  island,  Mr.  Dombre,  syndic 
(or  mayor)  of  the  city,  who  was  rich  the  day  before  and 
was  now  almost  reduced  to  beggary  in  his  old  age.  He 
owned  two  of  the  largest  hotels  of  the  place.  In  one  of 
them — the  Piccola  Sentinella — lay  thirty-six  dead  guests, 
and  the  whole  was  merely  a  set  of  useless,  crumbling  walls. 
One  was  astounded,  on  looking  at  the  size  of  these  edifices, 
that  in  so  hazardous  a  country  (it  had  a  disastrous  earth- 
quake two  years  before,  in  which  over  one  hundred  were 
killed)  the  inhabitants  should  dare  to  build  of  stone.  Yet 
they  seem  to  have  done  so,  and  possessed  some  buildings  as 
large  as  the  greatest  hotels  in  the  cities  of  the  United  States. 
Now  the  government  has  prohibited  the  building  of  any  but 
wooden  houses  in  the  future. 

The  government  did  not  come  out  of  the  matter  with  any 
great  credit,  since  there  seems  to  have  been  a  reprehensible 
delay  in  sending  troops  to  the  island. 

Even  when  I  left  the  scene,  there  was  a  small  force  en- 
tirely inadequate  to  cope  with  the  calamity,  among  the 
ruins,  and  these,  strange  to  say,  took  their  midday  siesta 
(from  12  to  3)  as  if  the  occasion  did  not  demand  especial 
haste.  As  a  consequence  many  who  might  have  been  res- 
cued died  under  the  ruins.  The  careless  manner  of  grap- 
pling with  an  emergency  was  evidenced  by  the  fact  that, 
after  a  cursory  examination,  an  officer  reported  that  there 
were  only  dead  dodies  under  the  ruins,  and  these  already 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  145 

decaj'ing,  and  the  whole  town  was  a  very  dangerous  place, 
for  sanitary  reasons  and  because  of  crumbling  walls,  and 
that  it  would  be  advisable  to  strew  plenty  of  quicklime  and 
temporarily  close  that  part  of  the  island.  This  would  have 
been  done,  too,  but  for  the  arrival  of  the  humane  king, 
(what  a  grand  man  King  Humbert  is!)  who  ordered  that  the 
work  of  excavation  should  go  on  at  all  hazards .  Only  a 
few  hours  later  two  persons  were  rescued  alive  and  without 
a  scratch  of  injury.  It  was  a  strange  rescue.  One  of  the 
soldiers  came  to  notify  me  that  they  had  heard  moans  near 
the  Villa  Verde,  and  he  supposed  the  reporter io  Americano 
would  like  to  assist,  I  did  so  with  hearty  good  will,  for  it 
was  a  relief  to  be  active  with  so  much  misery  all  around. 
It  proved  to  be  a  young  lady  of  noble  birth,  from  Germany, 
and  a  tailor  of  the  place.  She  had  been  thrown  from  her 
chamber,  he  from  the  office  of  the  hotel,  into  the  cellar, 
where  a  pillar  had  lodged  transversely  over  them,  saving 
their  lives.  As  we  assisted  them  to  the  surface  the  lady 
was  calm,  although  tears  were  on  her  cheeks ,  but  the  tailor 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  became  insane;  "Where  was 
his  shop?  He  had  promised  a  coat  that  da}T!  He  was  a  man 
of  his  word!  Had  we  taken  his  cloth?"  and  so  he  went  on, 
growing  more  furious  each  moment,  until  he  was  led  away 
under  restraint,  by  some  of  the  soldiery.  Yet  the  lady 
said  that  while  imprisoned,  he  had  been  the  more  prudent 
of  the  two,  and  had  even  groped  around  to  see  if  food  or 
drink  were  within  reach,  and  after  finding  a  few  tomatoes 
had  given  her  some  of  them,  advising  her  to  eat  that  they 
might  sustain  their  strength  should  their  imprisonment  be 
very  long.  What  would  have  been  the  fate  of  these,  had 
the  island  been  closed  as  the  officer  suggested,  and  the 
quicklime  strewn?  These  are  two  of  the  many  lives  King 
Humbert  has  saved  in  his  career. 

The  next  day  the  scene  on  the  island  was  a  strange  one. 


146  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

*. 
Booths  for  the  sale  of  necessities  of  life,  tents  for  soldiers 
and  relief  committees,  men  driving  frightened  cattle  from 
boats  to  the  improvised  slaughter  hcuse,  ominous  piles  of 
quicklime,  wonder-struck  children  and  care-worn  parents — 
these  made  up  a  picture  which  would  move  any  heart. 
There  were  very  few  of  the  survivors  of  the  richer  classes 
on  the  island,  since  they  naturally  would  fly  from  such  a 
scene. 

Starting  up  the  curving  street  which  ascended  the  hill, 
the  terrific  odor  at  once  showed  the  danger,  in  such  a  warm 
climate,  of  such  excavation.  A  kindly  officer  broke  off 
half  of  his  piece  of  camphor  and  gave  it  tome  to  use.  The 
first  large  edifice  was  the  grand  bath,  now  almost  unrecog- 
nizable. In  this  place  one  gentleman,  a  photographer 
named  Sommer,  saved  all  his  family  and  many  others,  by 
presence  of  mind.  There  was  music  in  the  covered  hall  in 
the  centre  of  the  establishment,  and  many  were  sitting 
around  listening  to  it.  When  the  shock  came,  Mr.  Sommer 
called  all  around  him  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  which  was 
covered  only  by  a  large  skj^-light;  some,  after  a  few  seconds, 
called  out  that  the  ground  was  opening,  (as  in  fact  it  did  in 
some  places),  and  trying  to  rush  to  the  street,  were  killed; 
those  who  remained  with  Mr.  Sommer  were  all  saved,  only 
being  slightly  cut  by  the  falling  glass. 

Speaking  of  the  music  of  that  fearful  evening  calls  up 
one  of  the  most  pathetic  incidents  of  the  event.  A  young 
pianist,  von  Struve  by  name,  had  been  invited  to  assist  at  a 
musical  soiree,  and  a  young  lady  wrho  had  not  intended  to 
attend,  had  been  persuaded  to  assist  with  a  few  songs. 
Every  one  in  that  drawing-room  was  instantly  killed,  and 
the  body  of  the  young  pianist  was  found  seated  at  the  in- 
strument, with  the  music,  (a  volume  of  Chopin),  open  on 
the  rack.     The  young  lady  was  found  dead  near  by. 

I  brought  away,  as  a  souvenir  of  the  dreadful  concert,  a 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  147 

bit  of  that  music,  with  the  pianist's  name  upon  it,  as  repro- 
duced in  the  accompanying  illustration.  The  concert  took 
place  in  the  Hotel  des  Etrangeres,  or  the  "  Piccola  Senti- 
nella,"  as  it  was  more  generally  called,  (see  illustration), 
and  we  entered  the  place  by  means  of  ladders  placed  against 
the  second  story  windows.  The  way  in  which  the  history 
of  the  strange  concert  was  preserved  was  most  peculiar. 
Mr.  von  Struve  had  not  given  an}r  music  on  any  occasion 
during  the  season,  alleging  as  sufficient  excuse,  that  he  was 
at  the  island  for  rest  and  did  not  desire,  therefore,  to  turn 
from  recreation  to  piano  playing .  The  solicitation  of  friends , 
however,  at  last  prevailed,  and  he  consented  to  give  just 
this  one  musical  evening.  Oddly  enough  (could  it  have 
been  premonition?)  he  began  the  musicale  with  Chopin's 
"Funeral  March."  One  of  the  small  circle  of  friends,  who 
did  not  care  for  such  sombre  music  at  a  pleasure  resort,  arose 
and  left  the  room  and  went  into  the  garden.  This  was  his 
salvation!  Chopin's  "  Funeral  March  "  saved  his  life!  It 
was  this  man  who  told  the  soldiers  of  the  concert,  who 
guided  us  all  to  the  spot,  and  who  gave  the  details  narrated 
above. 

Passing  farther  up  the  slope,  the  way  becoming  more  dif- 
ficult, I  turned  aside  into  a  vineyard,  where  I  found  five 
families  of  peasants,  huddled  together  without  a  hut  or 
shelter  of  any  kind.  They  complained  bitterly  that  the 
system  of  relief  was  not  yet  well  organized ,  and  that  the 
soldiers  had  been  excavating  only  in  the  fashionable  quar- 
ters, leaving  the  large  part  of  the  city  where  the  working 
class  lived  undisturbed.  How  true  this  was  I  could  not  sa- 
tisfactorily ascertain.  An  officer  assured  me,  however,  that 
the  men  could  not  do  more  than  was  being  done,  that  the 
poorer  portion  of  the  city  was  buried  deeper  through  being 
in  the  valley  under  the  vineyard,  and  that  the  soldiers  were 
much  abused  by  an  excited,  half-crazed  peasantry,  who  even 


148  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

accused  them  of  stealing  valuables,  when  in  fact  the  poor 
fellows  had  to  work  the  first  day  almost  on  empt}'  stomachs, 
because  the  food  was  needed  for  the  people.  He  admitted, 
however,  that  the  military  had  been  ordered  there  very  late, 
but  that  was  not  the  soldiers'  fault.  The  latter  fault,  I  ma}7 
say,  seems  to  have  been  due  to  much  red  tape  on  the  part  of 
General  Mezzacapo.  The  prefect  of  the  province,  Count 
San  Leverino,  has  been  unremittingly  active.  But  I  could 
not  but  incline  to  the  belief  that  the  soldiery  had  no  thorough 
system ,  when  I  saw  them  leave  their  work  during  a  shower 
and  seek  refuge  under  the  trees,  when  I  observed  that 
there  was  no  S}Tstem  of  relief  gangs,  and  that  some  houses 
had  not  been  approached  since  they  fell  in,  and  that  the 
labor  was  wholly  suspended  at  night.  The  next  house  that 
I  passed  told  a  mute  stoiy .  One  corner  room  remained  in- 
tact, and  here  I  saw  neat  damask  window  curtains,  handsome 
pictures,  and  a  table  which  was  still  spread.  All  the  in- 
mates were  dead.  I  cannot  begin  to  describe  the  debris 
farther  up  the  road.  Sleeping  and  reclining  chairs,  paint- 
ings, wearing  apparel,  a  piano,  of  which  not  a  string  was 
broken,  although  the  case  was  entirely  demolished;  every 
article  told  of  what  the  city  had  been . 

One  of  the  most  frightful  wrecks  of  the  city  was  the 
Hotel  et  Pension  Villa  Verde.  As  I  approached  I  saw  the 
gaily  painted  signs,  announcing  the  hour  of  table  d'hote, 
the  various  medicinal  baths,  and  the  different  attractions  of 
the  place.  Back  of  these  signs  was  a  solid  heap  of  masonry 
in  which  lay  almost  every  inmate  of  the  hotel.  I  was 
joined  here  by  a  party  consisting  of  Messrs.  Mella  and  Dal 
Ferro  of  the  Roman  News,  Mr.  Wildhagen  of  the  Pullman 
car  company,  and  Mr.  A.  G.  Caprani  of  the  Hotel  Royal 
of  Naples,  but  I  was  soon  obliged  to  leave  them  because 
the  fearful  sights  and  odors  caused  them  nausea,  Mr. 
Mella  only  continuing  with  me.     Just  beyond  the  Hotel 


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EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  149 

Verde  I  found  a  house  which  seemed  to  have  been  a 
large  structure  many  stories  high.  Everything  was 
down  as  far  as  the  second  story.  Here,  from  a  vast  pile 
of  rubbish  I  saw  a  man's  foot  protruding.  Calling  some  of 
the  soldiery  I  had  an  opportunity  of  noting  some  of  the  de- 
fects of  the  system  of  excavation.  After  exposing  the  body 
from  the  ankle  to  the  knee  they  decided  it  was  too  solidly 
buried  to  recover,  and  calling  up  two  boys  with  baskets  of 
quicklime,  they  filled  up  the  cavity.  Meanwhile  an  officer 
had  arrived  with  a  list  of  the  inmates  of  the  house,  and  had 
checked  off  one  name  almost  at  haphazard.  A  soldier  told 
me  that  his  brother,  sister-in-law  and  two  nieces  lay  under 
this  heap ,  and  with  no  more  emotion  than  if  he  were  point- 
ing out  the  beauties  of  the  landscape.  The  house  was  called 
the  Villa  Marcatelli.  But  I  found  a  vivid  contrast  to  this 
apathy  in  a  young  man  named  Severio  Monti,  who  told  me 
that  his  father  and  mother  were  lost  in  the  crash,  he  him- 
self escaping  unwounded.  He  spent  the  night  and  part  of 
the  next  day  in  furiously  digging  in  the  ruins  for  their 
bodies.  His  greatest  fear  was  that  they  might  be  buried 
alive.  At  last  he  found  his  mother's  body  and  he  tells  me 
that  he  cannot  explain  his  emotions  on  finding  that  she  had 
been  instantly  killed.  He  felt  almost  as  much  joy  as  if  he 
had  found  her  alive.     His  father  he  was  unable  to  find. 

It  is  strange  that  one  could  think  of  eating  amid  such 
scenes;  nevertheless,  we  were  glad  to  be  shown  by  this 
young  man  to  the  hotel  of  his  uncle,  which  was  only  about 
one-quarter  in  ruins,  and  was  about  the  only  house  of  the 
place  that  had  escaped.  It  was  called  the  Hotel  Belle vue, 
and  proved  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  Here  our  little  party 
met  again  and,  with  some  Italian  officers,  partook  of  a 
frugal  meal.  The  proprietor  seemed  to  take  the  misfor- 
tune very  stoically,  but  not  in  as  apathetic  a  manner  as 
some  of  the  other  inhabitants.     At  the  conclusion  of  the 


150  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

repast,  he  absolutely  refused  all  compensation  for  the  meal, 
saying  that  business  should  begin  after  the  dead  were 
buried.     Meanwhile  we  were  his  guests. 

After  this  there  was  but  a  repetition  of  the  old  story — 
death,  death,  death  on  every  side.  At  the  hotel  of  the  Gran 
Sentinella  I  met  a  man,  half  crazed,  who  invoked  the  ven- 
geance of  heaven  upon  the  soldiers,  who,  he  said,  had  done 
nothing  but  drink  and  steal  since  they  reached  the  island. 
In  the  midst  of  this  tirade,  an  Italian  captain  stepped  up, 
trembling  with  rage,  and  demanded  a  single  proof  of  the 
assertion.  He  turned  to  me  and  said,  "  Our  soldiers  came 
here  late,  it  is  true,  but  they  worked, and  are  working, faith- 
fully and  honestly.  The  first  day  they  were  starved;  they 
had  not  even  a  crust  of  bread;  what  wonder  if  they  seized 
a  few  bottles  of  wine  to  sustain  them . ' '  But  in  answer  to 
my  question  about  the  suspensions  of  work,  he  was  obliged 
to  admit  my  criticisms .  The  soldiers  did  not  work  at  night. 
One  of  the  rich  inhabitants  offered  toiurnish  electric  lights 
at  his  own  expense,  but  the  officers  thanked  him  and  said 
they  could  not  accept  the  offer  without  "higher  authority." 
Red  tape  could  go  no  farther  than  this.  At  noon  each  day 
the  entire  soldiery  took  three  hours  rest  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  there  were  still  living  beings  in  the  ruins.  All  this  was 
confirmed  by  the  officer,  who  was  forced  to  admit  the  truth 
of  it. 

While  talking  with  him ,  a  private  came  up  to  announce 
the  discovery  of  another  victim.  We  went  together,  and 
found  the  body  to  be  that  of  a  fashionable  lady ,  finely  dressed , 
with  a  brilliant  ring  on  the  left  hand.  The  ring  was  put  in 
alcohol;  the  body,  only  half  unearthed ,  covered  with  quick- 
lime, and  the  name  of  Rose  di  Clustere  erased  from  the  list 
of  missing  and  placed  in  that  of  the  dead.  The  list  will, 
however,  never  be  complete,  for  many  were  not  on  the 
hotel  books.    Saturday  night  was  the  worst  possible  moment 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  151 

for  such  a  calamity,  since  many  had  gone  to  the  island  to 
pass  Sunday  with  their  friends,  and  these  must  have  swelled 
the  population  at  least  by  eight  hundred,  and  these  eight 
hundred  will  never  be  thoroughly  accounted  for . 

I  cannot  add  to  this  chapter  all  the  anecdotes  and  incidents 
of  that  ten  hours'  visit.  Every  moment  brought  some  new 
pang,  until  I  began  to  undertand  the  callousness  of  the 
people.  Arrived  at  the  beach,  after  I  had  gathered  most 
of  the  important  details,  I  found  there  was  no  certainty  as 
to  when  a  boat  would  leave  for  Naples.  Even  the  highest 
official,  the  secretary  of  public  works,  did  not  know.  This 
official  was  very  cordial,  promised  to  send  details  of  further 
excavations  to  me  at  Naples  (which  he  did  not  do) ,  and  as- 
sured me  on  his  personal  honor  that  there  was  no  possibility 
of  a  single  person  being  any  longer  alive  under  the  ruins. 
Somebody  had  said  that  but  a  few  hours  before  a  few  un- 
fortunates demolished  his  theory  by  stepping  out  without  a 
scratch . 

At  last  I  found  a  government  boat,  which  took  me  back 
to  Naples.  Here  again  everything  was  excited  and  fever- 
ish. Vesuvius  was  in  a  state  of  eruption,  and  the  Neapoli- 
tans began  to  fear  that  even  they  might  not  be  secure.  Yet 
a  most  wonderful  sight,  an  indirect  consequence  of  the 
earthquake  was  to  greet  me  the  next  night  in  Naples. 

I  was  resting  after  the  exciting  events  just  described,  at 
the ' '  Hotel  Reale, ' '  which  is  situated  on  the  new  embankment , 
just  opposite  the  Castle  deirUovo,  and  from  the  balcony  of 
which  one  can  see  the  long  crescent  of  the  beach,  stretching 
away  for  miles  towards  Vesuvius.  I  had  gone  to  bed  quite 
exhausted,  but  was  awakened  at  about  2  a.  m.  by  the  most 
indescribable  of  sounds;  it  was  the  voice  of  a  vast  multi- 
tude. What  could  it  be?  With  visions  of  earthquakes  and 
disasters  upon  me,  I  sprang  to  the  balcony  just  outside  my 
chamber  window .    Then  I  beheld  a  most  unexpected  sight ;  it 


152  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

was  a  moonlight  night,  and  the  beach  was  as  distinct  as  if  it 
were  day,  and  upon  it,  and  the  embankment, were  gathered 
300,000  people,  (this  was  the  estimate  of  the  journals  the 
next  day) ,  and  the  mighty  crowd  was  agitated  as  the  waves 
of  the  sea.  What  could  this  mean  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning?  It  meant  one  of  the  most  audacious  schemes  of 
robbery  ever  planned,  and  a  hoax  beside  which  Hook's 
celebrated  Moon  Street  hoax  was  nothing;  a  trick  which 
deceived  an  entire  city.  A  small  band  of  thieves  had  gone 
from  house  to  house  at  midnight,  stating  that  Professor 
Palmieri,  of  the  observatory  on  Vesuvius,  had  predicted  a 
great  eruption  and  earthquake  by  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  bidding  the  people  save  themselves.  Immediately 
all  Naples  was  in  an  uproar.  The  memory  of  Casamicciola 
was  upon  everybody,  and  with  one  wild  impulse  all  left 
their  houses  and  sought  shelter  by  the  seashore.  Fancy  the 
effect  in  a  city  of  the  size  of  Naples!  Of  course,  in  a  few 
minutes  a  dispatch  was  received  from  Prof.  Palmieri  de- 
nying that  he  had  made  any  prediction,  but  it  took  some 
hours  to  get  this  news  disseminated  among  the  people,  on 
the  principle  that  a  lie  will  travel  around  the  world  while 
truth  is  putting  its  boots  on  to  pursue  it,  and  in  those  few 
hours  there  was  rich  plundering  for  the  band,  who  were,  I 
believe,  never  discovered. 

Great  is  the  power  of  Italian  imagination .  The  day  after 
my  visit  to  Casamicciola  the  Popolo  of  Rome  contained  the 
following  telegram:  "Several  American  correspondents 
were  here  yesterday,  and  expressed  complete  approval  of 
the  energetic  measures  taken  by  the  government  atlschia." 
To  my  own  knowledge  there  was  but  one  other  American 
on  the  spot,  and  if  there  was  any  approval  in  our  sen- 
tences it  must  have  been  because  of  our  poor  Italian. 
But  enough  of  this  gloomy  subject.  I  left  Naples  regret- 
fully, and  passing  through  Rome,  made  straight  for  Pisa, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  153 

which  I  found  the  most  uninteresting  city  of  Italy .  Having 
seen  the  tower  lean  to  the  best  of  its  ability,  and  having 
heard  the  echo  in  the  Baptistery, I  could  meditate  on  earthly 
vanities  during  the  rest  of  my  stay .  Perhaps  my  judgment 
is  warped  by  the  fact  that  I  came  to  the  place  at  4  a.  m., 
after  an  all-night  ride.  A  custom  house  officer  of  some 
kind  met  me  at  the  gate,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  anything  to 
declare.  I  declared  that  I  was  cold  and  sleepy,  whereupon 
he  laughed,  and  told  me  to  get  to  bed  as  soon  as  possible. 

Perhaps,  in   a   semi-musical   work,  however,   the   echo 
should  not  be  so  summarily  dismissed.     It  is  a  refined  and 
musical  echo,  which  has  probably  studied  Richter,  and  un- 
derstands harmony,  for  when  the  guide  sang  certain  notes 
singly, it  gave  back  a  neat  assortment  of  triads  and  seventh 
chords  which  it  had  made  up  out  of  the  raw  material.     A 
man  could,  in  this  place,  sing  a  duet,  or  a  trio ,  with  himself 
without  much  difficulty.     There  are  different  theories  as  to 
what  made  the  tower  of  Pisa  lean  so  much.     I  believe  I 
discovered  the  cause  when  I  saw  an  American  relic-hunter 
trying  to  chip  off  a  piece  of  the  building  to  carry  away  "as 
a  souvenir."     The  tower  probably  did  its  utmost  to  fall 
over  on  one  of  these  relic-gatherers,  and  a  very  sensible 

tower  it  was. 

At  Milan  the  musician  is  chiefly  interested  in  La  Scala, 
which  is  by  no  means  an  attractive  looking  opera  house. 
Whenever  I  have  had  the  fortune  to  see  it,  it  has  seemed 
dingy  and  faded.  But  its  acoustics  is  quite  another  matter; 
there  is  probably  no  other  edifice  of  size  in  the  world,  except 
the  Albert  Hall  in  London,  where  every  sound  is  so  well 
garnered  up  and  delivered  to  the  expectant  ear.  It  will 
strike  the  American  oddly  at  first ,  that  an  amount  of  tremolo 
is  tolerated,  and  even  desired,  in  Italy,  that  would  be  hissed 
in  our  country,  but  this  is  a  matter  of  taste  which  falls 
under   the   head   of   lide  gustibus  non  est  disputandem ." 


154  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Some  of  the  singers  nicker  in  their  tones  as  if  they  needed 
quinine  for  vocal  ague.  Of  course  the  artistic  traveler  will 
go  to  see  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  "Last  Supper, "  and  will  feel 
disappointed  to  learn  that  it  has  been  retouched  from  time 
to  time  to  prevent  its  fading  out.  One  may  feel  that  this 
makes  it  about  as  original  as  the  boy's  jack  knife,  which 
first  had  a  new  blade  inserted,  and  then  a  new  handle,  but 
after  all  we  have  to  do  the  same  thing  in  music,  and  set 
additional  accompaniments  to  Bach  and  Handel,  so  that 
when  we  hear  a  modern  performance  of  "The  Messiah"  it 
is  not  always  easy  to  say  what  is  Handel,  what  is  Mozart, 
what  is  Adam  Hiller,  and  what  is  Robert  Franz. 

But  Como!  lovely,  sweet,  incomparable  Como!  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  the  andante  tranquillo  which  fell  upon  the 
allegro  movement  at  thy  shores!  I  felt  that  if  there  had 
been  a  Pauline  within  reach  who  understood  the  United 
States  language,  I  should  have  quoted  Bulwer  to  an  alarm- 
ing extent.  The  very  beginning  of  my  visit  there  was 
auspicious.  The  American  flag  was  hanging  over  the  door 
of  the  Hotel  Britannia  as  I  entered.  A  large  number  of 
foreigners  were  staying  here,  and  that  evening  we  had  fire- 
works and  a  serenade.  The  latter  was  memorable  for  the 
most  energetic  trombone  playing  I  ever  heard.  The  wild 
luxuriance  of  that  trombone  player's  powers  will  not  soon 
be  forgotten.  The  concert  would  have  been  perfect  and 
the  ensemble  well  balanced  if  that  emphatic  musician  had 
been  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake. 

I  cannot  describe  the  quiet,  restful  charm  of  the  lake.  It 
is  of  a  vivid  green  color  and  is  surrounded  by  hills  which 
remind  one  of  the  Scottish  lochs;  but  the  languid,  hazy 
atmosphere  lends  a  charm  which  is  altogether  absent  from 
the  latter.  To  take  a  boat  and  row  over  to  the  smaller 
lake  of  Lecco,  from  Cadenabbia,  and  to  linger  around  the 
lovely  villas  which  fringe Bellaggio, is  little  short  of  para- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  155 

dise;  but  unfortunately  paradise  cannot  be  described  in 
earthly  t}-pe.  The  golden  afternoon  effect — the  midday  is 
kept  as  a  time  of  siesta  in  all  Italy  in  summer — was  height- 
ened by  peasants  going  home  from  their  work,  singing  by 
the  way,  exactly  as  the  peasantry  do  in  Boucicault's  dramas. 

The  following  evening  Yfe  had  a  fete  on  the  lake  in  true 
Italian  style .  A  large  barge — ga}'ly  trimmed  with  lan- 
terns, and  containing  a  piano,  fireworks,  wine,  cake,  and 
soloists,  among  whom,  by  special  invitation,  was  myself — 
put  out  from  the  shore.  A  programme  of  music  was  gone 
through  with  in  this  al  fresco  manner,  the  singers  being 
Senorita  Curti  of  Buenos  Ayres,  Signor  Mella  of  Cadenab- 
bia,  and  myself;  several  pianists  and  choristers  were  also  on 
board  the  barge,  and  contributed  numbers.  It  was  said  to 
have  been  very  pleasant  from  a  distance,  but  taken  from 
the  near  point  of  view,  it  had  its  drawbacks.  The  lights 
drew  hundreds  of  insects  which  were  inhaled  and  exhaled  by 
the  singers  at  loud  notes,  and  which  crawled  down  their 
backs  at  pianissimo  passages;  the  lanterns  occasionally  took 
fire  and  added  vehemence  to  the  high  notes  of  the  soprano; 
the  tallow,  dripping  from  the  suspended  lights,  formed 
fantastic  patterns  on  the  dresses  of  the  singers.  I  shall  go 
to  future  water-serenades  as  a  passive  member. 

Yet  the  spontaneous  character  of  these  fetes  is  charming. 
This  excursion  was  planned  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  evening 
we  started  out  from  Cadenabbia,  and  we  had  not  sung  two 
numbers  before  there  were  signs  of  activity  in  Bellaggio,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  lake.  Out  came  the  boats,  a  moment 
after  in  swarms.  Each  brought  its  quota  of  fireworks  along 
and  Roman  candles  and  colored  fires  soon  punctuated  the 
musical  numbers.  Nevertheless  a  quiet,  moonlight  row  on 
that  corner  of  Lake  Como ,  called  Lago  di  Lecco,  is  preferable 
to  all  the  manufactured  enthusiasm  of  water  festivals . 


156  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Switzerland — the  great  organ  at  luzerne — zither  mu- 
sic IN  THE  ALPS CLIMBING  THE  CHAPEAU  BAS THE  RO- 
MANTIC    MULE A     RIDE     BESET     WITH     DANGERS UP    THE 

RIGHI A     MUSICAL    ACQUAINTANCE ZURICH CHAMOUNIX 

GENEVA SCHAFFHAUSEN . 

At  last  I  am  out  of  sunny  Italia,  and  rest  under  the  folds 
of  a  republican  flag.  In  Switzerland  the  motto  is  "Libert}^, 
Equality,  and  Cash  Paid  in  Advance."  The  last  is  the 
most  important  part.  The  refreshing  coolness  of  the  at- 
mosphere is  fully  equalled  by  the  refreshing  coolness  with 
which  the  natives  of  this  place  lay  on  the  tariff  for  strangers. 
But  of  that  hereafter. 

At  the  frontier  we  are  told,  by  the  railway  officials,  with 
much  emphasis,  not  to  leave  our  seats  until  the  customs 
officer  has  examined  all  our  handbags.  I  prepare  to  dis- 
gorge soiled  collars,  cuffs,  bad  cigars,  tooth  brush,  nail 
brush,  everything,  but  when  the  smiling  Svvitzer  comes  to 
me  he  sa}-s:  "Don't  open  your  bag!  You  have  nothing  you 
desire  to  declare,  have  you?"  This  is  as  leading  as  airp  Sun- 
day school  question,  and  I  answer  promptly  "No,"  and 
enter  into  the  Swiss  republic. 

Of  the  three  lakes  of  north  Italy,  Como,  with  Lago  di 
Lecco,  seems  the  fairest;  Lago  Lugano  is  undoubtedly 
grander,  but  has  not  the  dreamy  repose  of  the  former. 
Lugano  itself,  although   in   Switzerland,  is   a  thoroughly 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  157 

Italian  city,  having  Italian  inhabitants,  Italian  buildings 
and  Italian  smells.  From  here  the  traveler  towards  the 
north  crosses  the  Alps.  This  part  of  the  journey  again  de- 
fies description .  As  I  went  through  the  passes  on  the  slow- 
moviug  railroad  train,  a  thunder  storm  passed  over  the 
peaks.  One  cannot  imagine  a  more  stirring  sight  than  such  a 
storm  in  these  mountains;  echoing  reverberations  from  every 
side;  the  swollen  torrents  begin  to  bring  down  stones,  and 
small  landslides  occur.  Meanwhile  men  are  busy  all  along 
the  road  clearing  away  the  dangerous  debris,  and  ready  to 
signal  the  train  should  any  great  obstruction  occur.  The 
time  of  running  through  the  St.  Gothard  tunnel  (one  of 
the  longest  in  the  world)  was  twenty-one  minutes.  The 
air  throughout  was  pure  and  cool,  thanks  to  an  excellent 
ventilating  apparatus. 

Luzerne  was  the  objective  point  of  my  next  foray,  and 
here  it  poured  all  day  and  night,  and  the  great  lion  seemed 
peculiarly  sad ,  viewed  from  under  a  dripping  umbrella ,  while 
the  glacial  garden  was  a  succession  of  little  pools,  Switzer- 
land in  the  wet  is  a  regular  damper  to  one's  hilarity. 
Finally,  driven  by  the  rain,  and  having  heard  so  little  music 
during  the  past  season,  I  went  to  the  church  to  hear  a  con- 
cert upon  the  great  organ.  The  instrument  has  some  beau- 
tiful solo  stops,  but  unfortunately  it  has  an  organist  (with 
an  unpronounceable  name)  who  is  so  sentimental  that  he 
uses  almost  nothing  but  these,  and  the  effect  is  like  a  meal 
composed  wholly  of  sweatmeats.  He  took  to  the  vox 
humana  as  naturally  as  a  duck  to  water.  In  American 
church  organs  the  vox  humana  generally  sounds  like  a  goat 
with  the  ague,  but  here,  fortunately ,  it  did  resemble  a  human 
voice,  and  the  effect  was  not  altogether  bad.  The  most 
musicianly  work  of  the  organist  was  done  in  the  Vorspiel 
to  "Lohengrin,"  but  then,  as  if  he  repented  him  of  having 
given  some  good  music,  he  immediately  followed  it  with 


158  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

"The  Storm,"  the  most  sensational  piece  ever  written.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  give  lightning  flashes  on  the  piccolo, 
and  roars  of  thunder  on  the  pedals ,  but  it  was  worse  to  give 
Wagnerian  phrases  between  the  flashes,  on  the  corno  and 
trumpet  stops;  it  sounded  for  all  the  world  as  if  a  cornetist 
were  out  in  the  fields  practicing  selections  from  "Tann- 
hiiuser"  and  had  been  struck  by  lightning — a  righteous 
punishment.  Another  favorite  trick  of  this  organist  was 
to  jump  from  a  deafening  fortissimo  to  an  inaudible  pian- 
issimo, but  there  are  so  many  organists  and  pianists  at  home 
who  do  this  that  I  was  quite  used  to  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  thunderstorm  in  the  church,  I  went 
into  the  rainstorm  out  of  doors,  and  in  spite  of  the  lowering 
skies,  departed  the  next  day  for  Interlaken.  The  scenery 
along  the  new  railroad  over  the  Brunig  Pass  is  something 
beyond  description,  and  the  lake  of  Brienz  is  quite  as  fine, 
but  as  the  guide  books  do  the  necessary  rhapsodizing,  I  pass 
it  by  in  silence,  and  only  state  that  I  ended  this  stage  of  my 
journey  on  the  mansard  roof  of  the  two-storied  railway 
which  runs  to  Interlaken.  This  is  one  of  the  tiniest  rail- 
roads imaginable,  its  whole  length  being  only  a  few  miles; 
but  what  it  lacks  in  length  it  makes  up  in  height,  each  car 
being  about  twenty  feet  high."  I  could  live  at  Interlaken 
about  twenty-five  minutes  before  going  into  insolvency;  I 
was  therefore  perfectly  solvent  when  at  the  end  of  twenty 
minutes  I  engaged  a  carriage  to  go  to  the  Grindelwald. 
The  driver  promised  everything;  he  saw  that  I  had  my 
doubts  about  the  weather,  and  he  promised  immediate  sun- 
shine; he  anticipated  my  misgivings  about  finding  rooms  at 
the  destination  by  promising  princely  lodgings  at  pauper 
prices;  he  painted  a  picture  about  as  glowing  as  Claude  Mel- 
notte  portrayed  to  Pauline — before  marriage,  and  put  on  so 
much  couleur  de  rose  that  the  sun  seemed  to  burst  from  be- 
hind the  clouds.     Once  started  a  cloud  fell  upon  his  brilliant 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  159 

prospects;  he  had  a  daughter  in  Lauterbrunnen;  he  had  not 
seen  her  for  many  days;  would  our  noble  highness  consent 
to  his  going  to  see  his  child  and  compensate  him  for  the 
trouble?  He  didn't  put  it  just  that  way,  but  that  was  what 
it  boiled  down  into.  I  am  not  naturally  hard-hearted,  and 
consented  to  the  re- union  of  two  loving  hearts  at  my  ex- 
pense. Besides  I  wished  to  look  at  the  Staubbach,  that 
wonderful  fall  of  1,000  feet,  which  was  just  then  especially 
fine,  because  of  the  recent  rains. 

Therefore,  while  he  looked  at  his  daughter,  I  looked  at 
the  fall,  and  both  were  satisfied.  After  this  came  a  long 
drive,  with  the  same  optimistic  driver,  to  the  Grindelwald. 
Here  I  committed  a  fault  which  no  experienced  traveler 
should  do;  I  allowed  my  Jehu  to  persuade  me  as  to  what 
hotel  to  put  up  at.  He  told  me  the  rooms  at  the  Bear  Hotel 
should  cost  but  three  francs  per  diem!  So  indeed  they  did, 
but  the  "  extras  "  put  the  rooms  out  of  sight.  There  was 
the  mystical  "service"  charge,  two  francs  a  day;  the  equally 
dark  charge  for  "  lights,"  one  franc,  and  a  dozen  other 
equally  incomprehensible  debts.  But  as  the  air  in  this  Al- 
pine district  was  worth  about  ten  cents  a  breath,  I  considei 
that  I  made  a  profit  in  spite  of  this. 

I  hope  that  I  am  not  giving  my  readers  the  impression 
that  I  am  a  traveling  skinflint  (if  they  could  hear  the  num- 
ber of  times  that  I  am  called  "your  excellency"  and  "youi 
highness,"  this  idea  would  at  once  vanish) ,  but  the  constant 
succession  of  flea-bite  charges  annoys  an  American  more 
than  the  extortion  of  a  good  sum  taken  at  once  would.  Let 
me  explain:  We  are  walking  to  the  glacier  on  the  Grindel- 
wald, for  example;  there  is  a  guide  (necessary)  who  gets 
four  francs;  then  we  meet  an  infant  who  stands  in  our  path 
and  sings  dismally  about  the  joys  of  Alpine  life  (tip) ;  then 
her  elder  sister  with  edelweiss  (buy) ;  then  a  boy  with  smoky 
quartz  (swear; ;  then  a  cripple  with  outstretched  hat  (give) ; 


160  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

then,  as  we  emerge  from  a  gorge, we  are  met  by  a  female  with 
a  placard  stating  that  these  gorges  cost  half  a  franc  to  look 
at  (settle) ;  then  comes  a  man  with  a  long  horn  and  sells  us 
the  echo  at  another  half  franc  (liquidate);  finally  we  are  at 
the  cave  in  the  ice,  out  of  breath,  for  it  is  a  strong  climb, 
when  we  pay  just  one  more  half  franc  apiece  to  go  in.  Is 
that  the  end?  Nay,  misguided  reader,  for  in  that  ice  cave, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Alps,  sits  a  female,  apparently  several 
years  older  than  the  glacier;  she  has  with  her  a  prehistoric 
zither  and  a  cracked  voice,  and  she  makes  our  existence  there 
unendurable,  for  which  we  give  her  one  franc.  On  our  re- 
turn trip  all  the  army  above  described  (and  this  is  no  fancy 
sketch)  is  on  duty  to  do  it  all  over  again,  but  the  iron  has 
entered  into  our  soul,  our  heart  is  hardened,  our  pocket 
empty  of  small  coin  and  our  retainers  are  dismissed  this  time 
without  guerdon.  For  all  this,  these  petty  beggings  and 
demands  do  not  rob  the  Alps  of  their  grandeur,  and  after 
all  the  season  is  very  short,  a  half  franc  is  only  ten  cents, 
and  the  people  are  very,  very  poor,  so  I  feel  half  ashamed 
of  the  above  growls. 

I  begin  to  suspect  my  suave  driver,  with  the  parental 
feeelings,  of  duplicity;  for  he  is  engaged  the  next  day,  and 
when  my  guide  is  negotiating  with  a  good  team  for  my  re- 
turn to  Interlaken  he  says,  "  Why  not  take  Seppl?"  "He's 
only  got  one  horse."  "But  don't  you  know  what  a  fine 
one  he  owns."  And  so  when  I  engage  Seppl  I  expect  a  sort 
of  Nancy  Hanks,  and  am  rather  distrustful  when  I  am  given 
a  steed  that  probably  once  belonged  to  an  undertaker  and 
was  thoroughly  used  to  funeral  processions,  and  had  never 
got  over  his  early  habits.  Nevertheless  we  get  to  Inter- 
laken in  due  season.  We  are  more  than  satisfied,  for  the 
sun  has  come  out,  the  white  peaks  are  all  glittering,  and  we 
are  to  have  a  grand  day  to  go  back,  over  the  Brunig  pass 
and  ascend  the  Righi. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES,  161 

At  Luzerne  I  found  a  perfect  colony  of  Americans.  The 
place  seems  to  grow  in  favor  with  our  countrymen  every 
year.  Its  atmosphere  is  cool  and  clear;  it  is  within  reach 
of  many  beautiful  spots,  affording  opportunity  for  numerous 
excursions,  and,  with  all  the  extortion  of  the  Swiss,  it  does 
not  come  nearly  so  expensive  as  an  American  fashionable 
watering-place.  Concerts  every  evening  at  the  hotels,  and 
a  fairly  good  French  opera  troupe. 

I  will  not  speak  of  the  well-known  railroad  up  Righi-Culm, 
but  will  only  mention  the  fact  that  after  a  delightful  ascent 
the  clouds  came,  the  rain  fell,  and  chilly,  damp  and  uncom- 
fortable, I  sought  refuge  in  the  drawing-room ,  where  I  met  a 
young  pianist  from  Vienna — Miss  GiselaLorinser,  who,  in  a 
succession  of  strains  by  Chopin  and  Schumann ,  banished  the 
discomforts  of  the  trip.  This  young  lady  played  me  several 
of  her  own  compositions.  They  do  not  cherish  the  female  com- 
poser so  much  in  Austria  as  we  do  in  America,  so  she  told  me. 
I  never  felt  the  delight  of  the  freemasonry  of  music  so 
keenly  as  in  the  pleasant  hours  in  the  midst  of  a  pouring 
storm,  spent  with  an  enthusiastic  artist  almost  a  stranger. 

At  Giessbach  I  began  to  realize  that  I  had  indeed  left 
Italy .  The  thermometer  settled  down  to  forty  degrees ,  with 
an  evident  desire  to  stay  there.  The  ponderous  feather-bed 
covers  which  I  sneered  at  in  Germany,  here  became  a  sweet 
boon.  I  crawled  out  into  the  keen  atmosphere,  from  under 
my  feather  mountain,  in  the  early  morning,  with  feelings 
of  the  liveliest  regret,  but  an  Alpine  sunrise  is  not  to  be 
missed,  and  I  saw  it. 

Less  grand  was  the  illumination  of  the  falls  at  night. 
The  cataract  comes  down  about  a  thousand  feet,  and  all 
along  its  course  are  set  bengola  and  lime  lights .  The  sight 
is  a  strange  one,  although  it  lasts  but  a  short  time      The 


162  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

scenery  around  Giessbach  is  more  impressive  than  that  of 
the  White  Mountains,  and  fully  as  accessible. 

Inter laken  is  more  beautiful  still ,  for  the  pure  white  peak 
of  the  snowy  Jungf  rau  is  contrasted  with  the  vivid  green  of 
the  valleys  and  lower  mountains.  We  may  have  grander 
scenery  in  Colorado,  but  we  have  nothing  which  exactly 
compares  with  this  striking  contrast.  But  to  the  traveler 
who  comes  here,  I  must  recommend  the  proverb,  "Put 
money  in  thy  purse. "  A  large  number  of  wealthy  English 
families  habitually  resort  here,  and  have  brought  things  to 
such  a  pass  that  even  if  one  does  not  consider  Mallock's 
question,  "Is  life  worth  living?' '  one  must  at  least  confess 
that  living  comes  very  high . 

I  went  back  to  Interlaken  to  meet  a  young  American  who 
desired  my  company  to  the  Wengern  Alps.  On  my  second 
arrival  there,  however,  I  avoided  the  very  expensive  Hotel 
de  L'Ours. 

On  arriving  at  the  pretty  little  Hotel  du  Glacier  at  Grin- 
del  wald,  I  formed  the  rash  resolve  to  ascend  to  the  Ice 
Cave  and  Mer  de  Glace,  this  time  on  horseback. 

"The  horse  was  brought,  a  noble  steed, 
A  Tartar—" 

(I  had  indeed  caught  a  Tartar)  of  the  very  worst  kind  of 
breed,  who,  when  I  had  mounted  him,  proceeded  towards 
his  stable  in  a  vehement  manner.  I  pulled  at  the  rein,  and 
vociferated  "whoa!"  with  various  expletives  to  add  force 
to  my  command,  but  it  was  in  vain.  Suddenly  the  truth 
flashed  upon  me — that  horse  did  not  speak  English.  I 
called  a  boy  who  was  standing  by,  noting  the  proceedings, 
and  took  a  hasty  lesson — price  ten  sous — in  the  Swiss  tongue. 
From  the  instructions  of  my  philological  professor  I  gath- 
ered that  it  was  considered  good  style  to  say  "E-e-e-e" 
when  you  wished  your  steed  to  go,  and  "H-a-a-a-y"  when 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES,  163 

the  animal  was  desired  to  stop.  This  brought  me  on  a 
speaking  acquaintance  with  ray  horse.  I  was  now  able  to 
indicate  to  him  that  I  desired  to  ascend  the  mountain.  I 
know  the  exact  moment  when  this  flashed  upon  his  mind, 
for  he  started  with  a  suddenness  that  seemed  to  loosen  the 
very  soles  of  my  boots.  From  that  moment  my  interest  in 
the  scenery  ceased .  Across  planks  which  spanned  mountain 
torrents,  up  paths  which  seemed  to  be  perpendicular,  and 
down  banks  which  would  be  called  precipices  in  New  Eng- 
land, that  horse  safely  bore  me.  His  angle  was  not  the  same 
two  seconds  in  succession,  and  I  alternately  sat  on  his  ears 
and  on  his  tail  in  a  manner  which  kept  the  average  all  right. 
The  chasm  at  the  Grindelwald  is  grand,  but  by  no  means 
the  finest  in  Switzerland.  The  echo  is  a  delusion  and  a 
snare.  At  every  available  point  a  mercenary  Swiss  ap- 
proaches you  with  a  pistol  and  demands  money.  He  is  a 
sort  of  licensed  highwayman;  he  does  not  put  the  pistol  to 
your  head,  but  on  receiving  a  franc,  goes  into  a  gorge  or  a 
cave,  or  a  chasm,  and  fires  a  volley  that  you  may  hear  the 
echo.  With  the  exception  of  the  echo  at  Mont  Blanc ,  every 
echo  I  have  heard  in  Switzerland  is  inferior  to  our  own 
home-made,  United  States  echoes.  The  echo  on  a  still  day 
in  Rockland  harbor,  Maine,  can  discount  the  echoes,  at  a 
franc  apiece,  of  Switzerland.  Higher  up  the  mountain  I 
took  a  temporary  farewell  of  my  steed — I  was  without  guide 
— leaving  him  at  a  little  hut  where  they  sold  an  internal 
terror  called  kirschwasser,  and  clambered  to  the  Ice  Cave 
again.  Here  I  found  quite  a  party  of  tourists  passing  in 
and  out.  The  Ice  Cave  is  simply  an  artificial  passage  and 
chamber  hewn  out  of  the  glacier.  The  strange  blue  color 
of  the  ice  in  the  interior  is  well  worth  viewing.  This  time 
there  were  tivo  Swiss  girls  in  the  cave  singing  folk-songs 
with  a  happy  "Jodel,"  and  playing  on  the  zither.  They 
pretended  to  enjoy  the  cool  atmosphere.   Believe  them  not, 


164  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

their  affection  is  centred  on  the  purses  of  the  visitors. 
When  the  tourists  are  gone,  they  hasten  from  the  cave  and 
warm  themselves  and  drink  kirschwasser .  On  the  other 
side  of  the  Wengern  Alps  I  unexpectedly  found  my  brother 
who  had  taken  a  run  down  from  Schaffhausen,  and  who  in- 
duced me  to  visit  that  pleasant  and  restful  city  with  him. 
It  was  not  exactly  on  my  route,  but  in  a  real  vacation  tour 
it  is  doubly  pleasant  to  demolish  one's  own  plans  occasion- 
ally and  go  to  places  which  one  had  not  intended  visiting. 
On  the  way  we  stopped  over  at  fashionable  and  lively  Zurich. 
Here  much  of  my  time  was  spent  in  a  cab  (not  always  the 
best  way  to  see  a  city) ,  for  I  did  not  desire  to  bankrupt 
myself  by  staying  long  in  a  fashionable  Swiss  resort.  I  was 
searching  for  my  old  music  teacher  Carl  Gloggner  (once  of 
the  Leipsic  Conservatory  faculty),  a  man  not  unknown  in 
Boston,  and  one  whose  greatness  and  worthiness  is  only 
fully  comprehended  by  those  who  went  beneath  his  rough 
and  brusque  exterior . 

He  died  several  years  ago  in  Zurich,  and  some  hours 
of  search  and  many  inquiries  at  the  cemeteries  did  not 
result  in  giving  me  even  .the  small  satisfaction  of  stand- 
ing by  his  grave.  Rip  Van  Winkle's  "Are  we  so  soon 
forgotten  after  we  are  dead?"  was  borne  in  upon  me  with 
telling  force.  But  I  forget  again ;  allegro  movements  ought 
not  to  indulge  in  many  mestoso  or  doloroso  passages.  I  found 
a  cabby  who  agreed  for  a  stipend  to  show  me  the  city,  which 
by  the  way,  I  already  had  seen.  Such  scrupulous  attention 
to  detail  has  seldom  been  found.  As  he  was  engaged  by 
the  hour,  and  Zurich  has  few  remarkable  points,  he  elon- 
gated his  material  to  the  utmost  extent.  He  stopped  with 
much  decision  and  regularity  at  every  beer  brewery  and  in- 
formed me  that  the  liquor  within  was  of  especial  excellence, 
and  could  be  bought  by  the  glass.  At  last  I  had  pity  upon 
his  evident  thirst  and  allowed  him  to  pull  up  for  refresh- 
ment. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  165 

In  the  hostelry  I  found  a  reminder  of  my  Italian  trip  of 
a  few  years  ago  in  the  shape  of  some  of  the  long,  thin,  black 
and  poisonous  cigars,  with  a  straw  in  the  center  ("Cabagero 
Infamia"  would  be  a  good  name  for  the  brand) ,  which  I  had 
once  attacked  in  Rome  and  Naples  where  the  inhabitants 
have  the  temerity  to  smoke  them.  Spite  of  the  dissuasions 
of  my  brother  I  drew  the  straw  from  the  centre,  and  send- 
ing some  farewell  messages  to  friends  and  relatives  in  Ame- 
rica, lit  the  affair  and  began  to  smoke! ! !     ■ 


#*####   l    i    i 


When  I  recovered  my  senses  I  was  in  a  railwa}^  carriage, 
on  the  way  to  Schaffhausen.     I  had  survived. 

During  the  stop  at  Winterthur  I  saw  a  good  illustration 
of  European  ideas  of  the  dignity  of  woman  among  the  lower 
classes.  A  man  and  woman  were  promenading  together, 
chatting.  The  former  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  was 
puffing  a  pipe;  the  latter  was  dragging  a  heavy  cart,  filled 
with  potatoes.  The  conversation  was  necessarily  desultory, 
as  the  lady  had  to  pull  pretty  hard,  and  this  occasioned 
grunts  and  pauses  in  her  remarks.  It  pays  for  the  conti- 
nental peasant  to  marry,  because  after  the  ceremony  he  can 
make  his  spouse  do  the  manual  labor  he  would  otherwise 
have  to  do  himself. 

Swiss  railways  can  never  be  described  without  knocking 
the  type  into  pi.  The  train  which  carried  me  to  Schaff- 
hausen had  delirium  tremens,  and  after  each  violent  attack 
would  pause  for  many  minutes  to  recover. 

Schaffhausen  certainly  deserves  well  at  my  hands ,  for  it 
became  to  me  a  haven  of  rest  during  a  rather  eventful  Eu- 
ropean tour,  and  for  a  week  I  vegetated  within  its  ancient 
walls,  and  came  there  to  do  it  again  the  next  year.  Alpine 
tourists  make  of  Schaffhausen  a  port  of  entry  and  exit,  and 
having  glanced  at  the  falls  of  the  Rhine,  dash  on  to  "other 
climbs."     It  ought  to  receive  more  attention  than  it  does 


166  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

from  the  traveler,  for  it  is  full  of  interesting  antiquities, 
and  although  a  small  place  now  (15,000  inhabitants)  it  has 
seen  better  da}Ts,  somewhere  in  the  middle  ages.  I  could 
speak  of  more  than  one  interesting  old  building  "  fallen  from 
its  high  estate,"  and  become  a  tailor  shop,  a  barber  saloon 
and  what  not,  but  I  prefer  to  speak  of  the  people,  and  of 
life  in  a  small  Swiss  city. 

Don't  believe  in  pastoral  simplicity  as  regards  small  cities 
and  villages:  Sardou's  "  Nos  bons  Villageois  "  is  a  true 
bill  (much  truer  than  the  foul  King  Lear  of  village  life 
which  Zola  has  inflicted  upon  the  world),  and  even  the 
small  cities  reproduce  its  colors.  SchafFhausen  has  its 
bickerings  and  quarrelings  with  the  rest.  A  few  examples: 
A  few  years  ago  a  popular  Catholic  priest  settled  in  the  city, 
and  the  municipal  authorities  helped  him  in  founding  a 
chapel  of  his  faith.  The  good  priest  died  and  had  an  ugly 
and  cantankerous  successor,  who  embroiled  himself  with  the 
entire  Protestant  communit}1-,  whereupon  the  authorities 
aforesaid  fenced  up  nearly  all  the  roads  leading  to  the 
chapel,  and  the  zealous  worshippers  have  to  go  a  long  way 
across  lots  before  they  can  come  to  their  altar. 

A  wealthy  manufacturer,  not  knowing  how  to  expend  his 
money,  build  himself  a  mausoleum,  with  a  large  double  sar- 
cophagus of  stone  in  it.  His  wife,  dying  soon  after,  occu- 
pied half  of  the  costly  premises,  but  alas  for  human  stead- 
fastness, the  Croesus  married  again  and  then  died.  Wife 
No.  2  planted  him  in  his  stone  tete-a-tete,  but  turned  the 
previous  corpse  out  into  a  more  plebian  resting  place,  hold- 
ing cavity  No.  1  in  reserve  for  her  own  demise.  It  is  a 
plot  for  a  novelist,  only  no  one  would  ever  believe  it  hap- 
pened, that  is  unless  he  revolved  in  Schaffhausen  circles. 

I  am  afraid  I  appeared  eccentric  to  mairy  of  the  Schaff- 
hausenese,  for  I  took  a  bath  in  the  Rhine,  which  they  said 
no  one  but  a  crazy  Englishman  would  do,  with  the  water  at 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  167 

icy  temperature;  but  in  my  case  it  was  ignorance  rather  than 
foolhardiness.  I  could  never  get  accustomed  to  the  differ- 
ent modes  of  recording  the  degrees  of  heat  and  cold.  "How 
is  the  water  to-da}^?"  I  would  ask  the  fair  maiden  who  at- 
tended to  the  preliminaries  of  the  ablution.  "  Thirteen, 
mein  Herr,"  was  the  response.  Of  course,  I  knew  that  it 
wasn't  thirteen  degrees  Fahrenheit,  but  was  it  Reaumur  or 
Celsius?  There  was  no  use  inquiring,  for  I  did  not  know 
which  of  the  two  was  the  higher,  and  by  the  time  I  got  into 
the  cold,  green  water,  and  came  out  of  it  blue,  I  was  ready 
to  say  with  Mercutio — "A  plague  on  both  the  houses,"  and 
anathemize  any  thermometric  system  which  countenanced 
freezing  the  marrow  in  one's  bones. 

But  I  had  warm  enough  receptions  to  make  up  for  this 
chill.  To  the  pretty  Hotel  de  Poste,  where  I  stayed,  there 
came  a  Gesangverein,  a  singing  society  of  Herrisau,  and 
they  insisted  that  I  should  join  in  their  revelry .  They  did 
not  sing  quite  as  well  as  the  Apollo  Club,  (although  quite 
well  enough),  but  they  had  a  heartiness  in  their  musical 
work  that  was  attractive,  and  they  applauded  my  own  solo 
in  a  manner  that  disarmed  criticism,  while  at  the  close,  the 
light,  fantastic  brogans  moved  gayly  in  a  dance.  The  next 
day  they  all  had  what  the  German  student  calls  "hair-ache," 
a  term  of  much  deeper  significance  than  "headache,"  which 
they  all  blamed  to  the  quality  of  Schaffhausen  wine,  main- 
taining that  the  above  malady  could  not  be  acquired  by  any 
amount  of  Appenzeller.  For  myself,  I  found  the  wines  of 
Switzerland  very  innocent  and  very  sour. 

I  found  the  inhabitants  of  Schaffhausen  addicted  to  the 
seductive  game  of  billiards  and  I  made  the  discovery  in  a 
mortifying  manner  by  playing  one  rainy  afternoon  with  a 
stranger  who  must  have  been  a  Swiss  compound  of  Schaeffer 
and  Ives,  who  made  impossible  caroms  with  the  greatest 
of  ease  and  who  took  me  into  camp  with  a  grace  and  dex- 


168  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

terity  that  astonished  me.  I  learned  subsequently  that  he 
was  the  champion  of  the  canton. 

The  next  day  was  fine,  (Switzerland  in  a  rain  storm  is 
about  as  bright  as  the  celebrated  picture  of  the  negro  look- 
ing for  a  black  cat  in  a  dark  cellar  at  midnight),  and  I 
walked  out  to  the  Rhine  Falls  at  Neuhausen.  I  would 
advise  the  active  traveler  who  seeks  these  falls,  to  live  as  I 
did  at  Schaff hausen ,  and  then  go  on  foot  to  the  more  fash- 
ionable Neuhausen.  I  went  in  a  circuitous  manner,  (let  no 
enemy  connect  this  with  the  revelry  mentioned  above), 
stopping  first  at  Dachsen ,  where  I  sat  in  a  restaurant  amid 
the  cornfields  and  vineyards  and  sipped  my  coffee  and  pufied 
my  cigar,  and  found  that  peace  which  passeth  all  Cook's 
tourists'  understanding.  Then  I  walked  through  the  fra- 
grant fields  down  to  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  where  I  found 
the  quaintest  of  ferries  in  the  shape  of  a  small  flatboat  and  a 
smaller  boy ,  who  responded  to  the  incantation  of  "uebergeh,' ' 
("go  over") ,  uttered  in  a  choking  voice,  with  as  many  con- 
sonants and  gutturals  as  it  would  hold.  The  Swiss  always 
break  up  the  German  language  into  gasps  and  grunts  which 
would  send  a  Hanoverian  into  convulsions.  After  the 
crossing  of  the  Rhine  a  delightful  ramble  through  the 
woods  brought  me  to  the  falls,  which  were  especially  fine  at 
that  season,  as  the  Rhine  had  not  been  so  high  for  years. 
They  are,  of  course,  not  a  Niagara,  but  are  rather  compar- 
able to  the  falls  at  Trollhatten,  in  Sweden,  and  they  are 
illuminated  at  night  with  bengola  and  electric  lights,  as  is 
done  at  Giessbach.  But  I  cannot  say  that  the  waterworks 
are  much  enhanced  by  the  fireworks. 

I  found  adventurous  boatmen  ready  to  take  me  up  to  the 
foot  of  the  falls  for  three  francs,  and  accordingly  made  the 
short  but  exciting  trip.  The  spray  was  all  around  me,  the 
noise  was  tremendous,  and  like  Southey's  Lodore  water- 
works, there  was  a  "splashing, and  dashing,  and  crashing," 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  169 

until  I  thought  of  the  chances  of  an  upset,  and  furnishing 
an  item  for  the  Swiss  newspaper  reporters,  especially  as  I 
had  just  seen  one  of  the  boatmen  drink  a  quart  of  fiery 
wine.  I  felt  sure  that  in  such  a  case  they  would  misspell 
my  name  and  get  the  circumstances  all  mixed  up,  perhaps 
stating  that  "the  Rev.  Dr.  Elison  of  Boston,  New  York, 
has  been  drowned."  We  got  safely  back  to  terra  firma, 
however,  and  I  found  on  walking  back  to  Schaffhausen , 
the  lower  part  of  that  city  inundated .  The  heavy  rains  had 
so  swollen  the  Rhine  that  it  had  entered  many  of  the  dwell- 
ings, from  which  the  inhabitants  were  making  a  hasty  exit. 
The  floods  had  done  great  damage  to  the  crops,  and  where 
the  dividing  line  between  existence  and  starvation  is  so 
slight  as  in  Switzerland ,  even  a  partial  failure  of  the  har- 
vest causes  great  distress .  The  climate  in  the  northern  part 
of  the  country  is  not  a  very  healthy  one,  neuralgia,  earache 
and  toothache  being  prevalent;  nearly  half  of  the  popula- 
tion had  wads  of  cotton  wool  in  their  ears,  and  the  other 
half  had  swollen  and  bandaged  cheeks,  and  the  general  re- 
sult was  not  cheerful. 

I  made  a  little  side  tour  to  Basle,  during  this  part  of  my 
vacation ,  and  to  get  there  was  obliged  to  cross  a  small  por- 
tion of  German  territory.  Why  the  customs  officers  should 
gaze  all  through  your  baggage  when  jou  leave  Switzer- 
land for  Germany  (especially  when  they  had  been  so  cour- 
teous when  I  entered  the  republic)  is  a  mj^stery  to  me.  The 
official  ransacked  my  entire  portmanteau,  and  gazed  at  my 
soap-box  as  if  he  were  not  quite  sure  as  to  what  it  was  meant 
for.  After  he  had  viewed  all  that  could  be  seen  from  the 
outside  he  asked  me  if  I  '-had  anything  to  declare."  I 
wanted  to  declare  him  the  biggest  nuisance  on  the  border, 
but  forbore;  otherwise  the  railroad  station  at  Schaffhausen 
is  a  tranquil  one.  The  employes  sing  forth  the  names  of 
the  stations  to  which  the  trains  go  in    a  stately  Gregorian 


170  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

chant.  After  the  station  master  has  sung  "This  train  goes 
to  Basel,  Freiburg,  Waldshut,  O ffen burg,  A ppen weir ,  Mann- 
heim and  Carlsruhe,"  you  feel  like  chanting  "Amen,"  so 
religiously  has  the  gazetteer  been  warbled;  and  then  the 
train  does  not  go,  for  a  good  while  at  any  rate,  and  peace 
and  tranquility  reigns  again . 

Basle,  Bale  or  Basel,  whichever  you  please,  (for  I  can 
offer  an  assortment  of  correct  spellings)  is  a  brisk  commer- 
cial city;  it  affords  little  to  the  traveler,  however.  Some  of  the 
peasant  women  wear  striking  costumes,  surmounted  by  tre- 
mendous black  bows  which  stick  out  from  their  heads  like 
wings .  If  you  were  to  saw  their  heads  off  the  result  would 
be  a  very  ugly  cherub  (a  la  Raphael)  in  black. 

We  returned  from  here  to  Schaffhausen  again,  indeed 
Schaffhausen,  in  Switzerland,  became  our  base  of  supplies. 
From  that  city,  as  from  a  beleaguered  fortress,  we  made 
sorties  over  the  neighboring  and  more  expensive  country, 
and  when  our  enemies,  represented  in  this  case  by  the  hotel 
landlords,  had  captured  almost  all  our  munitions  of  war, 
we  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  our  cheaper  resort,  and  saved  our 
few  remaining  ducats.  Dear,  dear  Switzerland!  how  much 
more  I  should  have  enjoyed  your  views  if  I  had  not  been 
kept  busy  in  diving  into  my  pockets  for  francs  at  every  turn . 

But  finally  growing  bolder,  and  new  remittances  having 
arrived,  I  determined  to  push  toward  the  valley  of  Cha- 
mounix,  stopping  at  various  points  of  interest  on  the  way. 

Lausanne,  a  pretty  terraced  city  on  the  borders  of  Lake 
Leman,  charmed  me  most,  because  its  houses  resembled 
those  of  New  England.  There  came  a  touch  of  sentimental 
homesickness  when  I  rowed  out  on  the  placid  lake  the  next 
day,  with  the  Castle  of  Chillon  on  the  horizon,  and  the  blue 
mountains  all  around,  which  was  relieved  somewhat  by  my 
making  rhymes  as  follows: 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  171 

LAKE  LEMAN 

If  we  two  were  together 

Beneath  these  tranquil  skies, 
Lulled  in  the  drowsy  weather, 

The  past  dream  might  arise ; 
A  dream  of  memory  golden, 
Amid  the  ruins  olden, 
If  we  two  were  together 

Beneath  these  tranquil  skies. 

If  we  two  were  together 

Upon  this  lotus  shore, 
With  noiseless  dip  and  feather 

I'd  ply  the  boatman's  oar; 
Across  these  ripples  rowing, 
From  earth  to  heaven  'twere  going, 
If  we  two  were  together 

Upon  this  lotus  shore. 

If  we  two  were  together 

The  scene  would  lack  no  more ; 
No  grief  the  soul  would  tether 

And  mar  this  alien  shore. 
But  now  the  waters  gliding 
Seem  but  a  gulf,  dividing; 
Since  we  are  not  together 

The  scene  can  charm  no  more. 

After  that  I  felt  somewhat  better,  and  the  malady  gradu- 
ally disappeared,  although  the  remedy  was  a  desperate  one. 

Chillon  itself  is  altogether  beautiful  from  the  outside,  but 
it  needed  many  grains  of  salt  to  believe  all  the  stories  told 
us  on  the  inside.  The  pillar  with  Byron's  name  carved  on 
it  was  of  course  visited;  also  the  second  one  beyond  it, 
where  Bonnivard  was  chained .  The  poem  of  the  ' '  Prisoner 
of  Chillon"  is  rather  imaginative  when  viewed  on  the  spot. 
If  the  prisoner  ever  climbed  up  to  that  little  window  and 
looked  on  the  three  trees  on  the  island— which  are  still  there 
—he  must  have  been  too  tall  a  man  for  the  pillar  to  which 
he  was  chained.     This  was  the  island  a  fellow- tourist  once 


172  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

endeavored  to  see  by  looking  out  of  a  prison  window  in 
Venice!  It  cannot  but  remind  one  of  Artemus  Ward's 
famous  imprisoned  knight,  who,  after  pining  in  his  dun- 
geon for  twelve  long,  weary  years,  was  struck  by  a  happy 
thought — he  opened  the  windoiv  and  got  out!  I  had  trouble 
enough  in  lifting  an  enthusiastic  tourist  up  to  the  little 
window,  which  is  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the  floor,  and 
the  wall  is  too  solid  to  cut  any  footings  into  it. 

At  the  door  of  Chillon's  Castle,  "damp  and  cold,"  I 
found  the  eternal  vendor  of  souvenirs — busts,  pictures, 
carvings,  canes,  scarf  pins,  brooches  and  rings,  all  branded 
1 '  Chillon . "  I  had  been  tempted  and  fallen  (into  the  hands 
of  the  dealer)  so  often  that  my  gripsack  resembled  that  of 
a  commercial  traveler  for  a  notion  house,  and  I  could  have 
gone  into  the  wholesale  souvenir  business  when  I  returned. 

But  I  met  one  American  young  man  in  Europe  who  was 
in  worse  case.  He  had  been  around  with  his  little  hatchet 
knocking  corners  off  all  the  various  cathedrals,  palaces,  etc., 
which  he  had  met  in  his  devastating  career,  and  his  bag  was 
as  heavy  as  if  he  were  traveling  with  samples  for  a  cannon 
foundry.  Something  must  be  thrown  away,  and  the  poor 
young  man  was  perplexed  as  to  whether  it  should  be  the 
"brick  from  Knox's  house  in  Edinburgh,"  the  "piece  of 
marble  from  Milan  Cathedral,"  the  "piece  of  the  wall  from 
the  Tower  of  London,"  or  some  other  piece  of  choice  but 
heavy  purloining. 

As  for  myself,  I  have  kept  all  my  purchases  except  my 
alpenstock.  These  broomsticks  are  generally  the  most 
cherished  part  of  the  tourists'  luggage.  They  walk  the 
town  with  them,  they  eat  with  them,  and  I  verily  believe 
some  sleep  with  them .  On  the  alpenstock  is  branded  the 
record  of  the  tourists'  exploits.  It  costs  fifteen  centimes  to 
brand  each  name.  One  tourist  showed  me  with  pride  his 
stock  with  the  record — "Chamounix,  Mer  de  Glace,  Mauvais 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  173 

Pas,  Chapeau,  and  Grand  Mulet,  Mont  Blanc;"  he  having 
made  all  these  ascents.  As  the  price  of  branding  is  so 
reasonable,  I  had  thought  of  having  my  broomstick  labeled 
u Himalaya,  Popocatapetl,  Pike's  Peak  and  Erebus,"  and 
carrying  it  back  to  America. 

From  Lausanne  my  pilgrimage  took  me  to  Martigny, 
where  I  was  much  impressed  with  the  size  of  the  gorges  and 
of  the  mosquitos.  The  latter  would  make  the  same  kind  of 
birds  in  New  Jersey  blush  for  shame,  and  when  they  present 
their  little  bills  they  almost  rival  the  hotel-keepers.  But 
the  gorge  of  Triente,  which  opens  at  Martigny,  is 
"gorge-ous."  One  cannot  see  any  bolder  cliffs  or  stranger 
chasms  anywhere.  Like  everything  fine  in  Switzerland,  it 
is  fenced  in,  and  one  must  pay  a  franc  to  see  it;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  one  does  not  see  "Rising  Sun  Stove  Polish"  or 
"Castoria"  painted  on  the  finest  portions,  as  with  us.  The 
customary  echo  highwayman  and  the  souvenir  fiend  flourish 
here,  ac  elsewhere. 

I  have  alluded  to  the  Martigny  mosquito;  I  must  also  pay 
a  word  of  tribute  to  the  Martign}*  flea.  He  is  not  nearly  so 
numerous  as  his  Neapolitan  or  Roman  brethren,  but  he  has 
more  business  enterprise  and  a  more  roving  disposition.  It 
is  interesting  to  watch  the  tourist,  engaged  in  conversation, 
suddenly  start  as  if  a  thought  had  struck  him.  It  is,  how- 
ever, not  a  thought,  but  an  insect.  I  have  discovered,  by 
pursuing  this  train  of  thought,  why  so  many  ballet  dancers 
come  from  Italy .  The  people  there  are  accustomed  from 
early  youth  to  stand  on  one  leg  and  scratch  with  the  other. 

From  Martigny,  over  the  Tete  Noir  Pass  to  Chamounix. 
In  this  pass  one  finds  the  most  impressive  scenery  imagin- 
able. Precipice  follows  precipice;  chasms,  torrents  and 
cliffs,  in  overwhelming  profusion.  But  the  ride  is  a  very 
fatiguing  one,  the  horses  being  unable  to  go  faster  than  a 
walk,  and  the  jolting  being  kept  up  all  day.     In  a  word, 


174  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

let  me  say  that  Switzerland  is  a  country  which  no  one  not 
in  robust  health  ought  to  dream  of  seeing.  Also,  in  plan- 
ning excursions  to  different  points,  the  traveler  must  bear 
in  mind  that  the  magnificent  proportions  of  the  mountain 
scenery  and  the  clearness  of  the  atmosphere  lead  to  great 
mistakes  as  to  distances.  Mont  Blanc  itself  seems  much 
lower  than  some  of  the  peaks  by  which  it  is  surrounded. 

One  of  the  favorite  excursions  from  Chamounix  is  over 
the  Mer  de  Glace  to  the  Mauvais  Pas  and  the  Chapeau .  It 
is  an  exciting  and  beautiful  trip .  Early  in  the  morning  a 
party  is  formed,  with  guides,  mules,  alpenstocks,  etc.,  etc. 
The  line  of  march  is  then  taken  for  Montanvert,  which  lies 
high  up  on  the  mountain ,  and  is  attained  only  after  a  cir- 
cuitous ride  of  two  hours.  My  mule  in  this  trip  was  a 
decided  improvement  upon  the  horse  of  Grindelwald.  He 
was  sure-footed  and  untiring.  At  Montanvert,  the  Mer  de 
Glace,  one  of  the  finest  of  glaciers,  lies  below  one's  feet. 
It  is  absolutely  necessary  to  have  an  alpenstock  in  travers- 
ing this  portion  of  the  trip,  and  it  is  also  advisable  to  have 
heavy  hobnails  struck  into  one's  shoes,  if  one  desires  to  go 
easily.  The  glacier  is  diminishing  year  by  year,  and  there 
is  not  a  doubt  but  that  at  some  future  time  a  valley  or  a 
chasm  will  be  in  its  place.  On- the  other  side  of  it  one  of 
our  party  discovered  the  remains  of  a  snow  avalanche,  and 
we  both  rushed  down  to  the  bank  and  started  a  lively  snow- 
ball fight — in  August.  But  while  it  was  cool  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  snow,  the  ice  sea,  and  the  torrents, — which  consist  of 
ice-water  the  year  round — it  was  decidedly  hot  on  the  rug- 
ged path  leading  to  the  Mauvais  Pas,  or  "bad  step."  Yet 
the  risk  of  this  trip  is  exaggerated ;  any  reasonably 
sure-footed  person,  who  is  not  nervous,  and  can  bear  a  little 
fatigue,  can  make  the  excursion.  The  steps  are  cut  in  the 
side  of  the  rock  for  a  distance  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
and  a  slip  would  send  one  down  the  precipice  were  it  not 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  175 

for  a  single  hand-rail  on  the  inside,  which  the  cautious 
traveler  must  clutch  as  he  crawls  along.  I  was  warm  enough 
when  I  arrived  at  the  little  inn  on  the  other  side,  and  calling 
for  milk — which  was  of  a  richness  unknown  to  America — 
and  brandy  and  sugar,  I  compounded  a  restorative  which  I 
believe  is  not  unknown  in  Chicago,  New  York, and  Boston. 
Half  an  hour's  farther  climbing  brought  me  to  the  spot 
where  the  mules  were  tethered,  they  having  been  sent  around 
by  a  lower  path  from  Montanvert.  Some  obliging  tourist 
had  kindly  exchanged  mules  with  me,  which  is  as  permis- 
sible as  changing  umbrellas,  and  had  left  in  the  place  of 
mine  a  ruminative,  absent-minded  animal  who  did  not  in- 
spire me  with  any  great  degree  of  confidence.  The  descent 
of  a  mountain  on  horse  or  mule  back  is  always  more  difficult 
than  the  ascent,  and  I  found  that  the  narrow  paths,  some  of 
them  only  two  feet  wide,  running  at  the  edges  of  very  deep 
chasms,  were  eminently  calculated  to  make  a  man  sorry  for 
his  past  sins .  In  the  midst  of  one  of  these  narrow  passes 
my  mule  gave  a  stumble  that  made  me  conclude  that  my 
series  of  reminiscences  had  come  to  an  untimely  end,  and 
set  each  particular  hair  of  my  head  bristling.  I  shouted 
the  most  emphatic  "H-a-a-a-y!"  ("whoa!")  that  had  ever 
been  heard  in  the  Alps,  and  astonished  the  animal  so  much 
that  he  recovered  himself.  On  examination  it  proved  that 
a  large  stone  had  "balled"  in  one  of  his  fore  hoofs  and  had 
caused  the  unexpected  mishap.  It  took  nearly  ten  minutes 
to  wedge  out  the  rock,  when  this  was  done  I  found  myself 
far  in  the  rear  of  the  party,  the  rest  having  gone  on  down 
the  mountain. 

Then  that  mule  began  to  make  my  life  wretched  in  a  man- 
ner which  obliterated  the  memory  of  all  past  animals  that  I 
had  ever  ridden.  He  had  an  eye  for  the  picturesque,  and 
would  walk  along  the  edges  of  high  cliffs  and  gaze  down 
pensively  at  the  valley  below  in  a  manner  which,  under 


176  .    EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

other  circumstances,  I  should  have  called  really  poetic,  but 
which  at  that  moment  seemed  to  me  cold-blooded  foolish- 
ness. He  always  kept  at  the  extreme  outer  edge  of  every 
path,  so  much  so  that  his  two  outer  legs  seemed  to  tread 
upon  air  only.  Occasionally  a  stone  would  give  way  and 
go  rolling  down,  down,  and  down,  in  pleasing  intimation  of 
what  might  have  been  my  fate  if  the  beast  had  pursued  his 
wanderings  in  search  of  scenery  a  few  inches  farther.  I 
gazed  in  that  mule's  eye  to  see  if  he  was  despondent,  or  had 
ever  been  crossed  in  love,  but  I  found  no  trace  of  suicidal 
intent  on  his  stolid  face,  which  reassured  me  somewhat. 

I  took  a  partial  revenge  when  we  got  to  level  ground  by 
making  him  gallop  nearly  all  the  way  to  Chamounix;  but 
even  here  he  had  the  best  of  me,  for  his  gallop  was  of  such 
an  indescribable  nature  that  it  was  impossible  to  adjust  one's 
self  to  it,  and  I  seemed  to  be  riding  an  animated  earthquake. 
But  a  good  sitz  bath  and  a  hearty  supper  removed  all  traces 
of  my  hard  day 's  work ,  and  then  I  had  the  hobnails  removed 
from  my  shoes,  and  the  guide  stole  my  alpenstock,  and  I 
went  out  of  the  mountaineering  business  for  good. 

That  night,  while  resting  in  the  parlor  of  Hotel  Couttet, 
I  looked  over  the  visitors'  book,  extending  back  to  I860. 
In  these  books  one  finds  the  impressions  of  many  a  poet- 
aster.    Here  are  a  few  of  the  gems  culled  from  the  volume: 

First — Politico-patriotic : 

Alexis  Jan  in,  "|      _•_     ■       ,  __       *nnn 

.  0     '    .  New  Orleans,  Aug.  31st,  1862. 

Edmund  S.  Dicky,  y      _      .  ,  '        °    . 

.  ~    T     .  I       Confederate  States  of  America. 
Albert  C .  Janin, 

"We  are  probably  the  first  to  plant  upon  the  soil  of  Mont 
Blanc  the  Confederate  flag,  glorious  emblem  of  valor  and  in- 
dependence . ' 

"  Vivat,  Crescat,  Floreat." 

There  was  a  Confederate  flag  sketched  above,  which  some 
one  had  almost  obliterated,  and  written  "  Treason  "  across. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  m 

Second — Witty : 

John  C.  Waters,  England. 
"  Man  proposes,  and — woman  accepts." 

Third — Poetic  (?)  and  religious: 

Wm.  B. , 

"  Amid  such  a  grandeur  of  Nature,  how  small  indeed  is 
man!" 

How  beautiful  is  a  sunrise  upon  the  Alps!  The  white 
hills  lie  shrouded  in  a  cold,  steely  hue,  when,  suddenly,  the 
uppermost  peak  begins  to  glow,  like  a  strange,  red  star,  or 
like  a  pimple  on  the  nose  of  a  pale  tourist.  It  is  a  glorious 
scene.  I  know  it  is  so,  because  it  was  described  to  me  by  a 
reliable  tourist  who  had  arisen  at  an  unseemly  hour  to  look 
at  it.  As  for  myself,  on  that  particular  morning,  I  devoted 
the  early- worm-catching  hours  to  sleep. 

I  needed  it,  for  after  ten  hours'  daily  climbing  and  mule 
riding,  the  love  of  the  beautiful  becomes  sensibly  diminished. 

The  day  after  we  had  crossed  the  Mauvais  Pas,  a  lady 
proved  that  it  deserved  its  name  by  fatally  injuring  herself 
there.  It  seems  that  she  turned  her  ankle  and  pitched 
headlong  down  the  precipice.  Every  year  Switzerland 
and  Savoy  have  their  category  of  Alpine  accidents,  and 
pleasing  pictorial  representations  of  the  subjects  are  dis- 
played in  the  store  windows  to  encourage  the  tourist  to  go 
and  do  likewise. 

The  next  day,  after  doing  the  Chapeau  and  the  Mer  de 
Glace,  I  started  for  Geneva.  It  was  a  long  ride  of  fifty 
miles  by  dilligence,  but  I  must  say  that  it  took  no  longer 
than  some  of  the  European  railways,  and  was  scarcely  more 
uncomfortable.  The  scenery  all  the  way  was  magnificent, 
and  the  road  as  smooth  as  a  table. 

Arrived  at  Geneva,  I  found  its  little  suburb  of  Chene-les- 
Bougeries  all  ablaze  with  excitement,  since  it  was  celebrat- 
ing a  communal  fete,  and  the  erection  of  a  new  town  hall. 


178  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Flags  were  suspended  from  every  house,  and  I  was  delighted 
to  find  several  American  ensigns  floating  in  the  breeze.  In 
such  a  fete  in  Switzerland  the  first  thing  to  be  thought  of  is 
a  rifle  match.  In  Italy  it  is  music;  in  France,  dancing;  but 
in  Switzerland  no  great  rejoicing  is  complete  without  a 
shooting  competition.  This  particular  match  was  a  large 
one  and  continued  three  whole  days.  I  grieve  to  say  that 
some  of  the  celebrants  had  been  gazing  at  the  festivities 
"  through  a  glass,  darkly,"  and  corkscrewed  their  way 
around  in  such  a  manner  that  the  target  keeper  must  have 
felt  nervous  when  it  came  to  the  shooting. 

Returning  to  Geneva  by  tramway,  I  found  that  my  bag- 
gage had  not  yet  arrived .  As  I  had  given  it  into  the  hands 
of  the  hotel  porter  at  the  diligence  office,  I  felt  deeply 
wounded  at  his  lack  of  interest  in  my  well-being,  and,  call- 
ing the  head  waiter  (at  the  Hotel  de  la  Paix) ,  I  proceeded  to 
deliver  a  short  oration  in  French,  at  a  pressure  of  260 
pounds  to  the  square  inch .  The  quality  of  my  remarks  and 
of  my  French  moved  the  waiter  so  much  that  he  went  to  a 
small  youth  near  by,  who  was  in  no  wise  connected  with 
the  matter,  and  after  demanding  my  portmanteau,  and  not 
receiving  it,  began  vigorously  boxing  the  ears  of  the  unof- 
fending young  man.  Strange  to  say,  even  this  did  not  pro- 
duce my  luggage,  which  eventually  turned  up  at  the  diligence 
office,  but  at  least  it  gave  me  an  insight  into  the  discipline 
of  the  hotel.  The  same  evening,  at  table  d'hote,  I  saw  the 
same  head  waiter  administer  gentle  correction  to  a  young 
subordinate  who  was  passing  knives  aud  forks  around.  A 
comprehensive  dig  in  the  back  caused  the  poor  fellow  to 
drop  the  entire  tray ,  and  stand  a  picture  of  dress-coated  and 
white-gloved  misery. 

Geneva  itself  affording  so  little  to  see,  I  went  again  on 
Sunday  evening  to  the  fete  at  Chene.  It  was  an  interesting 
sight.     The  villagers  had  got  along  comfortably  in  their 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  179 

three  day's  uproar,  to  the  end  of  the  imbibations  of  the 
second  day.  The  mayor  had  made  a  speech,  which  was 
probably  the  "greatest  effort  of  his  life,"  and  had  invoked 
Tell,  Winkelried,  Minerva,  Mars,  and  Caesar, to  watch  over 
the  destinies  of  Chene-les-Bougeries,  and  was  now  allowing 
the  destinies  to  drift  along  by  themselves  a  little  while,  while 
he  enjoyed  the  vintage  of  his  native  hills.  I,  too,  sat  down 
at  a  table  near  by  and  tasted  the  pangs  of  a  bottle  of  Swiss 
wine.  From  the  fact  that  the  bottle  only  cost  half  a  franc 
(ten  cents)  1  judge  that  Chene  has  not  yet  learned  to  milk 
the  foreign  tourist.  The  same  fact  was  borne  in  upon  me 
when  I  strolled  among  the  booths  and  found  pistol  galleries 
in  operation  at  one  cent  per  shot;  teetotums  at  two  cents  a 
chance;  side  shows  of  various  marvels  at  an  average  admit- 
tance fee  of  three  cents,  and  many  other  popular  recreations 
at  correspondingly  low  figures. 

Music  was  being  discoursed  in  the  centre  of  the  place, 
and  a  veritable  dance  on  the  village  green  was  going  on 
in  which  the  ladies  were  distinguished  by  the  vehemence  of 
their  pirouettes.  The  evening  closed  with  a  very  respect- 
able exhibition  of  fire- works  and  the  illumination  of  the 
green  with  an  electric  light.  Everybody  seemed  very 
good-humored,  and  if  I  did  see  some  slightly  intoxicated 
people,  I  must  add  that  elsewhere  I  had  met  but  three 
drunken  people  in  all  Europe.  The  next  day  I  went 
through  the  usual  boredom  at  Geneva,  the  chief  relief  being 
a  look  at  the  cathedral  and  the  Duke  of  Brunswick's  monu- 
ment, both  of  which  seem  perfect  crazy  quilts  of  architec- 
ture. I  also  had  a  plunge  and  swim  in  the  lake,  which  is 
as  clear  as  crystal,  and  as  lovely  as  the  whole  chain  of  Swiss 
lakes,  but  is  as  treacherous  as  it  is  lovely,  for  it  changes 
very  suddenly  from  enchanting  placidity  to  a  heaving  agi- 
tation, like  a  beauty  in  a  temper,  and  it  has  swift  currents 
that  would  drown  any  swimmer. 


180  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

I  left  Geneva  by  the  Lyons  &  Mediterranean  railway  and 
came  directly  through  to  Paris.  In  this  journey  the  fact 
was  again  made  apparent  that  the  railroads  in  Europe  often 
make  no  arrangements  for  the  comforts  of  passengers  on 
long  tours.  The  carriages  are  packed  as  full  as  they  will 
carry,  and  the  passengers  pass  the  night  as  best  they  can. 
Are  there  no  sleeping  cars? 

Yes,  but  the  few  possessed  by  the  road  were  "at  the  other 
end"  that  night! 

One  can  imagine  that  at  times  this  system  leads  to  deplor- 
able results.  I  know  of  one  case  where  a  Cleveland  lady 
took  her  husband,  who  was  just  convalescing  from  typhoid 
fever,  from  Rome  to  Vienna.  On  arriving  at  the  station 
to  take  her  berth,  she  was  informed,  just  as  we  had  been, 
that  the  wagon-  lit  was  not  on  hand  that  night .  She  traveled 
for  thirteen  hours,  supporting  her  sick  husband,  in  one  of 
the  miserable  subterfuges  called  first-class  carriages.  She 
died  herself,  poor  martyr,  soon  after  (and  because  of)  that 
terrible  journey. 

As  for  ourselves,  for  I  had  "chummed  in"  with  a  jovial 
American  party,  in  that  little  railway  compartment  we  de- 
termined to  make  the  best  of  it.  A  game  of  whist,  some 
jolly  singing,  a  pocket  flask,  etc.,  proved  that  Americans 
generally  can  imitate  Mark  Tapley  under  rather  difficult 
circumstances.  When  the  question  of  sleep  came  before  the 
meeting  it  was  disposed  of  as  follows:  Two  were  laid 
tenderly  on  the  floor,  four  were  dovetailed  on  the  seats,  and 
two — a  young  Chicago  lawyer  and  a  Cleveland  banker — 
were  hung  up  high  in  mid-air  on  the  baggage  racks ;  and 
soon  snores  coming  from  the  various  latitudes  told  of  the 
fact  that  Morpheus  had  taken  several  of  the  party  into  his 
kindly  arms.  And  the  next  morning,  scarcely  a  bit  the 
worse  for  the  night's  discomforts,  we  all  entered  Paris. 


ID 

> 


*    Z 

°   n 

H 

> 

O 
c 

m 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  181 


CHAPTER   Xin 

Paris — a  Turkish  bath — a  suave  barber — twenty-four 
hours  op  typical  parisian  life a  night  in  paris a 

COMMUNIST    GUIDE A    FEARFUL    RIOT A    CHARGE    OF    THE 

FRENCH     SOLDIERY LOUISE     MICHEL INTERVIEWS     WITH 

FRENCH    COMMUNISTS. 

On  arriving  at  the  most  beautiful  city  of  the  world  I  did 
not,  at  once,  plunge  into  the  vortex  of  dissipation,  but, 
feeling  that  I  had  two  or  three  Swiss  farms  concealed  about 
my  person,  I  sought  a  bath  and  a  barber.     Paris  contains 
the  most  elegant  Turkish  bath  in  the  world — the  Hammam. 
It  was  doubly  necessary,  for  Switzerland  is  like  unto  Ame- 
rica with  but  the  difference  of  a  letter — it  is  "  the  land  of 
the  flea  and  the  home  of  the  brave  1"     The  same  shampooer 
who  endeavored  to  tie  me  into  a  true  lover's  knot  a  few 
years  ago  was  there,  and  had  lost  none  of  his  enthusiasm, 
for  he  pounded  me  as  vehemently  as  if  he  were  a  French 
gendarme  arresting  a  female  socialist .     Jean ,  who  took  me 
in  charge,  is  the  most  energetic  of  all  shampooists.     Here 
is  a  literal  account  of  what  he  did.     He  set  me  to  stewing 
at  150  degrees  Fahrenheit  and  then,  repenting  of  his  mercy, 
he  came  back  and  placed  me  in  a  purgatory  of  200  degrees; 
after  I  had  almost  sweated  out  my  immortal  soul  he  remem- 
bered where  he  had  left  me  and  came  back  and  laid  me  out 
on  a  slab  and  pounded  me.     Then  he  rubbed  me  in  the  re- 
gular manner,  after  which  he  took  my  arms  and  tried  to  tie 


182  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

them  in  a  knot  behind  my  back,  failing  in  this  he  tried  to 
tickle  my  left  shoulder  joint  with  my  right  arm;  then  he 
laid  me  face  down,  and  stood  upon  the  small  of  my  back, 
and  having  me  thus  at  his  mercy,  he  took  my  right  leg  and 
introduced  it  to  my  left  arm.  I  begged  him  to  allow  me 
to  send  some  last  words  to  my  family ,  to  make  my  will,  but 
I  suppose  my  voice  was  drowned  in  the  cannonade  made 
by  the  cracking  of  my  joints,  for  he  callously,  but  energetic- 
ally went  on.  But  after  I  had  been  showered  and  sprayed 
from  every  direction,  after  I  had  plunged  in  the  delightful, 
tiled  swimming  bath,  after  I  had  lain,  half  dozing,  on  the 
Turkish  divan  in  the ' '  dim ,  religious  light , ' '  coming  through 
stained  windows  fit  for  a  cathedral,  I  forgave  Jean;  I  even 
gave  him  two  francs  and  went  again  and  again  to  undergo 
the  same  process.  After  it  I  feel  as  hollow  as  Mammoth 
Cave,  and  search  for  a  beefsteak.  No  Frenchman  knows 
what  a  true  beefsteak  is.  You  may  call  for  "  Biftek  a 
TAnglaise,"  "Biftek  gras"  or  whatever  you  please,  the  re- 
sult is  a  wafer  of  meat,  fried,  with  plenty  of  butter.  I  shall 
always  honor  James  G.  Bennett,  Jr.,  for  flinging  one  of 
these  trifles  in  the  waiter's  face,  for  this  repartee  caused  one 
restaurant,  at  least,  to  know  that  the  ideal  beefsteak  is  dif- 
ferent; and  now  for  the  barber. 

European  barbers  deserve  a  chapter  by  themselves.  I 
have  already  alluded  to  a  couple  of  varieties;  in  Italy  and 
sometimes  in  Switzerland,  the  chief  trouble  with  the  tonso- 
rial  artists  is  that  they  will  set  no  price  upon  their  scraping; 
"  Whatever  you  please,  your  excellency/ '  is  the  usual  for- 
mula, which  generally  ends  in  their  getting  considerably 
more  than  you  please,  and  twice  as  much  as  their  regular 
price.  The  French  barber  is  of  another  sort  and  generally 
has  a  female  accomplice,  disguised  as  a  cashier.  This  fair, 
young  lady  greets  me.  I  have  no  fear;  she  will  not  shave 
me — not  with  a  razor.    I  mount  a  winding  stair;  I  meet  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  183 

artist.  He  speaks  English!!  I  am  lost!!  He  begins  gently: 
It  is  a  pity  that  one  so  young  should  be  bald  and  gray!  It 
is,  but  I  have  borne  youth  and  baldness  from  infancy.  If 
I  use  his  brilliantine  my  mustache  will  curl  of  itself!  I  wish 
he  would  take  a  dose  of  his  brilliantine,  and  curl  up  and 
die,  but  I  say  nothing.  He  has  a  large  stock  of  lotions, 
hair  growers,  etc.,  on  hand,  and  he  is  determined  that  the 
opportunity,  and  I,  shall  not  slip  through  his  fingers. 

He  compliments  my  French !  (' '  Trust  him  not ,  he  is  fool- 
ing thee"),  and  finding  me  rather  apathetic  on  that  subject, 
takes  on  a  more  severe  and  warning  vein .  He  tells  me  my 
skin  is  delicate  and  tender  (it  is  as  thick  as  a  rhinoceros 
hide) ,  and  predicts  a  strange  and  hideous  eruption  unless 
his  lotion  is  used.  He  says  my  hair  is  coming  out  rapidly, 
but  that  it  can  be  checked  and  a  generally  youthful  appear- 
ance regained  only  by  a  mystical  pomatum  which  he  makes. 
He  offers  to  relieve  me  of  more  diseases  than  Job  ever  pos- 
sessed if  I  will  but  take  two  bottles  of  his  preparations,  and 
as  I  will  not,  he  grows  colder  and  colder,  and  the  shave, 
which  began  in  tenderness,  ends  in  rasping. 

I  am  offered  everything  from  shampoos  to  eternal  youth 
before  I  escape  down  the  winding  stair  and  face  the  beau- 
teous damsel  again.  One  shave,  one  friction  (!),  one  coup 
de  peigne  and  several  other  things,  which  are  mysterious ,  and 
which  I  probably  didn't  have,  are  charged  to  me — two  francs, 
and  I  fly. 

The  next  day  was  very  varied,  much  of  the  time  being 
spent  in  voitures,  driving  to  various  points  of  interest. 
Many  were  the  pourboires  to  the  hackmen,  who  certainly 
deserved  them,  for  their  earnings  are  small  enough.  This 
pourboire  business  must  shock  a  prohibitionist,  however. 
Possibly  you  have  heard  of  the  conscientious  Englishwoman 
who  always  gave  the  fee,  but  renounced  the  object,  saying 
— "  Non  poor  boire — poor  mangay!" 


184  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES, 

Among  the  places  visited  on  the  second  day  was  Versailles, 
and  to  economize  time  at  this  and  other  places  of  note,  I 
engaged  a  guide  who  turned  out  to  be  a  real,  live  Commu- 
nist. I  was  struck  at  the  very  outset  with  the  fact  that  he 
seemed  to  possess  a  large  amount  of  rather  unwieldy  infor- 
mation. In  fact,  he  was  staggering  under  a  larger  educa- 
tional load  than  he  could  con  ven  iently  carry .  His  description 
of  the  paintings  which  he  showed  me  was  at  least  graphic . 
1 *  Look , ' '  said  he ,  *  'upon  the '  Raise  of  Lazarus . '  Look  upon 
the  astound  which  is  pictured  upon  all  around.  Even  La- 
zarus is  astound  at  himself. " 

He  gradually  confided  to  me  his  pain  at  the  indignities 
heaped  upon  Louise  Michel.  His  grief  at  this  seemed  so 
vehement  that  he  several  times  tried  to  drown  it  in  the 
flowing  bowl. 

It  was  difficult  to  induce  him  to  part  with  me.  There 
was  nothing  high  or  low  in  Paris  that  he  did  not  know 
thoroughly  about,  and  which  he  did  not  desire  to  show  me. 
At  last,  on  the  way  to  Versailles,  he  was  so  overcome  by 
his  emotions,  and  libations  to  Bacchus,  that  I  left  him  asleep 
at  an  inn  table,  while  I  went  on  alone. 

I  do  not  think  he  is  cut  out  for  one  of  the  future  rulers 
of  France,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  lovely  country,  I  hope 
that  neither  he  nor  any  like  him  may  ever  bubble  up  to  the 
top  again. 

At  the  post  office  my  registering  a  letter  for  America 
caused  the  genial  clerk  to  air  his  knowledge  of  our  tongue. 
He  pointed  to  the  elevator  and  said,  ''Ha!  leeft!  Angleesh, 
no  good  is  better!"  to  which  lucid  remark  I  yielded  a  cor- 
dial assent,  and  then  went  away  to  think  it  over.  Dined 
with  Mr.  Moffett  of  the  New  York  Herald  in  a  quiet  pension, 
but  at  the  table  met  Father  Ryan,  a  literary  priest,  (not 
related,  however,  to  the  great  southern  poet-priest) ,  who 
speaks  pleasantly  of  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Father  Corcoran, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  185 

and  other  Boston  friends.  The  world  is  small,  and  I  had  a 
further  experience  of  this  in  meeting  a  man  from  the  other 
end  of  it  almost  directly  after.  The  Maronite  archbishop 
of  Damascus,  (Dahdah  is  his  name),  was  lying  ill  in  the 
priests'  hotel  in  the  Latin  quarter,  and  as  my  friend  was  to 
interview  him,  I  went  along,  and  in  the  invalid's  apart- 
ments (he  was  very  glad  to  see  us,  by  the  way),  I  was  for 
the  time  being  in  the  Orient,  as  eastern  servants  and  Damas- 
cene surroundings  proved.  The  dignitary  spoke  very 
discouragingly  of  the  spread  of  Christianity  in  the  east,  and 
with  great  contempt  of  the  morality  of  the  Mohammedans . 
Such  interviews  as  these  show  the  cosmopolitan  character  of 
Paris  thoroughly. 

If  I  started  out  to  describe  Paris,  to  give  the  dimensions 
of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  to  name  the  pictures  in  the 
Louvre,  to  tell  the  height  of  the  Column  Vendome,  my 
readers  would  await  my  return  with  shotguns  in  their  hands, 
and  I  should  deserve  my  fate.  No!  this  chapter  shall  be  of 
a  widely  different  order.  For  the  sake  of  science  I  became 
a  veritable  night  owl,  and  studied  Paris  for  nearly  twenty- 
four  hours  at  a  solid  stretch .  ' '  The  proper  study  of  mankind 
is  man,"  and  I  have  studied  Paris  men,  (and  women  too), 
with  a  persistency  that  will  meet  its  reward  in  a  better  land 
— probably  the  United  States.  In  the  pursuance  of  an 
economy  which  is  always  a  marked  characteristic  of  the 
modern  journalist,  I  went  to  Paris  by  night  service,  (on  the 
principle  of  the  eminent  traveler  who  always  traveled  third 
class — because  there  was  no  fourth),  and  then  to  the  Hotel 
Bergere,  which  was  neat,  economical,  clean,  and  above  all, 
central.  I  forgive  the  wicked  blanchisseuse  who  pounded 
my  underwear  to  fragments  and  then  charged  me  double 
price  because  of  the  blue  streaks  left  in  the  shirt  fronts ,  and 
speak  this  good  word  for  the  hotel.  After  all  fatigue  of 
past  travels  had  vanished ,  I  started  out  in  search  of  my 


186  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Parisian  types,  6  a.  m.  How  still  some  of  the  portions  of 
Paris  were!  It  was  about  the  only  time  I  had  seen  the 
restless  city  almost  at  rest,  and  this  was  only  in  the  more 
fashionable  quarters,  for  when  I  came  to  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine  everything  was  in  full  life;  the  workmen  in  their 
blouses  hurrying  to  their  labor,  the  cheap  restaurants  in 
active  operation,  and  the  groceries  and  provision  stores 
well  patronized. 

The  boulevards  again  presented  another  aspect.  House- 
maids were  hurrying  homewards  with  their  purchases  for 
various  Gallic  breakfasts,  and  the  long  sticks  of  bread,  a 
yard  or  two  in  length,  carried  under  their  arms,  made  an 
odd  impression  upon  me.  The  cafes  generally  were  yet 
closed,  save  in  the  by-streets,  where  one  of  the  lower  class 
showed  open  shutters,  and  a  garcon  with  sleepy  eyes  and 
dirty  shirt  was  sprinkling  sawdust  among  the  tables  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  only  customers  I  saw  were  of  two  kinds: 
firstly,  a  Parisian  swell,  who  had  evidently  been  out  (or  at 
least  away  from  home)  all  night,  and  was  taking  some  amer 
picon  to  steady  his  nerves,  and  who  was  still  in  a  dress  coat 
and  light  tie,  but  whose  rumpled  attire  spoke  of  the  fatigues 
of  the  search  after  enjoyment.  The  other  was  the  confirmed 
absinthe  drinker,  who  was  bound, 'like  Ixion  to  the  wheel, 
to  the  ceaseless  practice  of  his  habit.  I  watched  this  one 
narrowly.  He  had  evidently  passed  a  feverish  night  and 
was  now  in  search  of  his  regular  relief.  He  did  not  sit  at  a 
table  on  the  sidewalk;  that  would  have  involved  delay.  He 
passed  at  once  into  the  cafe  and  took  a  large  dose  of  pure 
absinthe.  A  short  time  afterward  he  emerged  an  altered 
man.  The  tremulousness  of  his  gait  had  temporarily  passed; 
his  face,  though  hollow,  had  something  of  fire;  he  had  ob- 
tained a  reprieve;  he  had  pushed  the  inevitable  a  little  far- 
ther away  from  him.  Decidedly  my  first  types  in  gay  Paris 
were  not  gay.     Then  followed  more  life.     A  walk  to  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  187 

Gare  du  Nord  brought  me  in  time  to  note  the  passengers  of 
the  incoming  English  trains;  but  this,  save  for  the  custom- 
house examination,  was  not  vastly  different  from  an  Ameri- 
can depot  at  an  early  hour,  although  one  could  tell  by  the 
faces  of  the  passengers  that  the  channel  passage  had  been  a 
little  rougher  than  usual.  The  newsboys  and  newsgirls  in 
the  city,  and  at  the  depot,  were  folding  and  arranging  their 
papers;  but  different  from  their  American  confreres,  were 
mute.  It  may  be  mentioned  en  passant,  that  the  newsboys 
form  no  such  an  element  in  Paris  as  in  America.  The  chief 
sale  is  at  the  kiosks,  or  regular  stands,  and  the  only  shout- 
ing done  is  by  newsboys  of  a  rather  large  growth  (from 
twenty  to  fifty  }Tears),  who  cry  various  papers,  such  as 
L'Anti-Prussien,  L'Anti- Berlin,  and  other  small  journals 
which  only  live  to  fan  the  smouldering  fire  of  hatred  which 
exists  in  France  against  Germany,  although  the  "  Intransi- 
geant,"  which  is  larger,  has  a  great  sale  by  boys  and  men. 
I  now  begin  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  morning  air,  but  even 
though  I  am  hungry,  I  do  not  think  of  breakfast,  for  I  can- 
not get  it .  In  the  swell  cafes  I  will  find  only  sand ,  looks 
of  scorn,  and  dirty  towels,  while  in  the  small  ones  I  can  get 
only  coffee  and  a  roll,  but  no  true  Frenchman  will  give  me 
any  meat  until  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  Never  mind,  I  can 
go  out  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  take  a  stroll  in  that 
magnificent  piece  of  woodlands. 

Perhaps  at  this  morning  hour  I  may  find  a  body  or  two 
suspended  from  the  trees,  for  the  suicidal  Frenchman  knows 
of  but  three  modes  of  exit  from  the  world — jumping  from 
a  high  window,  throwing  himself  into  the  Seine,  or  hanging 
himself  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Fortunately  I  find  no- 
body, dead  or  alive,  but  if  I  came  at  4  p.  ir.  I  should  find 
all  the  remnants  of  the  high  world  that  are  left  in  Paris,  for 
that  is  the  fashionable  hour.  You  will  see  that  all  the  way 
from  carriage  driving  to  suicide,  matters  in  Paris  go  in  ruts; 


188  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

even  the  theatres  have  their  special  nights  when  the  ' '  upper 
ten"  turn  out.  At  last,  however,  I  come  to  a  little  side 
street  where  a  tidy  restaurant,  which  is  open  at  this  early 
hour  for  its  workingmen  patrons,  is  situated.  A  biftek  is 
obtained ,  which  the  cook  insists  on  slicing  as  thin  as  a  wafer , 
but  which  is  palatable  nevertheless,  and  which,  with  some 
delicious  bread  and  butter,  is  washed  down  with  a  bottle  of 
claret  at  a  ludicrously  low  figure.  Through  the  open  win- 
dow I  watch  the  vivacious  shop  girls,  some  with  hats,  some 
without,  going  to  their  daily  work.  All  are  intelligent 
looking,  and  all  are  chatty  and  cheerful,  while  a  few  are 
beautiful.  It  is  another  Parisian  type.  But  as  to  the  gri- 
sette  of  fame  and  story,  she  is  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  She 
does  not  exist.  I  have  sought  her  in  the  haunts  where  all 
the  novels  have  placed  her  (as  you  will  see  later) ,  and  I  have 
not  found  her.  For  the  benefit  of  this  history  I  was  ready 
to  enter  into  a  flirtation  with  her,  if  I  had  discovered  her, 
but  this  hardship  was  spared  me. 

So  the  chief  part  of  all  this  early  morning  life  was  that 
of  the  working  people;  not  unlike  the  life  in  New  York  at 
the  same  hour,  but  more  cheerful  and  neater  in  appearance. 
At  nine  the  business  on  the  fashionable  boulevards  began, 
and  by  ten  oclock  the  fashionable  restaurants  condescended 
to  serve  breakfast.  The  Cafe  Anglais  and  others  began  to 
fill  up  with  young-old  and  old-young  men,  who  dallied  with 
their  food  in  a  very  blase  manner. 

And  now,  perhaps,  one  could  get  a  bowl  of  excellent 
bisque  of  some  sort  at  the  Cafe  Riche,  which  is  famous  for 
this  kind  of  thing,  although  it  is  as  innocent  of  true  beef- 
steaks as  every  other  French  restaurant.  Do  not  tarry  too 
long  here  if  you  desire  to  keep  any  money  in  your  pocket. 
The  cafe  may  be  called  Riche,  but  it  speedily  makes  its 
patrons  poor. 

By  eleven  o'clock  I  found  the  Avenue  de  Boulogne,  which 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  189 

was  formerly  the  Avenue  de  l'lmperatrice,  an  attractive 
spot.  Many  young  Parisians  were  taking  a  morning  horse- 
back ride  along  its  broad  course  and  into  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  just  beyond,  and  the  bright  looking  bonnes  with 
their  juvenile  charges  began  to  spring  up  as  if  by  magic. 
I  looked  to  see  if  the  typical  soldier  would  follow  the  typi- 
cal bonne;  he  did  not;  another  delusion  of  youth  was  gone. 
And  now  came  the  large  Athenian-looking  building  called 
the  Bourse,  the  stock  exchange  of  Paris.  I  was  a  trifle 
early  for  the  best  of  this  life;  but  what  I  did  see  was  inter- 
esting enough.  There  was  about  the  same  confusion  as  in 
an  American  stock  exchange,  and  all  spoke  together  just  as 
they  do  at  home .  One  young  man  appeared  to  be  the  leading 
spirit  of  that  day,  and  seemed  far  less  excited  than  the  older 
men  around  him .  A  calm  nod  or  a  quiet  word  seemed  to 
reach  its  object  with  him  as  thoroughly  as  the  wild  gestures 
or  vehement  expressions  of  the  older  speculators,  It  was  a 
type  of  young  Paris  which  is  beginning  to  affect  English 
wa}"S  and  manners,  and  which  begins  to  study  boxing  and 
' 'sport,"  and  be  led  around  by  a  "bouledog." 

It  was  now  noon,  and  the  sightseer  could  go  anywhere  and 
find  points  of  interest.  He  could  go  shopping  at  the  Bon 
Marche,  the  "Ail  Printemps"  or  the  "Maison  du  Louvre," 
(the  three  great  establishments,)  or  along  the  Avenue  de 
L'Opera,  if  careless  of  his  purse.  But  let  me  plead  with 
him  not  to  go  into  the  places  marked  "English  spoken 
here,"  for  this  more  generally  means  "English  cheated 
here."  I  well  remember  finding  a  carriage  with  the  sign 
"English  spoke,"  and  as  I  concluded  that  the  "spoke"  re- 
ferred to  the  driver  and  not  to  his  cab  wheels,  and  as  I  was 
pleased  with  the  quaint  imitation  of  the  fashionable  stores, 
I  engaged  him — by  the  hour.  His  "  English  "  was  a  delu- 
sion and  he  himself  a  snare.  At  the  end  of  forty  minutes, 
"How  much?" — "  Eet  ees  four  franc,  and  ze  pourboire!" 


190  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

"No,  dearest,  "said  I,  in  the  sweetest  Lord  Fauntleroy  tones 
(I  called  him  "  dearest  "  because  he  emphatically  was  the 
dearest),  "  it  is  two  francs,  as  the  gentleman  standing  over 
there  will  tell  you,  if  you  have  forgotten."  The  "  gentle- 
man over  there  "  was  a  swgent  de  ville,  a  police  officer,  and 
all  at  once  the  floodgates  of  memory  were  opened,  and  the 
Jehu  with  the  " English  spoke"  remembered  the  tariff,  but 
the  funniest  of  all  was  that  he  gave  a  pleasant  little  laugh 
as  he  took  the  two  francs  and  a  half,  said,  "I  haf  meet  you 
too  late!"  and  touched  his  hat  respectfully  as  he  drove  away. 

But  I  digress;  I  am  going  around  Paris.  But  now  so 
many  paths  are  open!  One  can  go  over  the  Seine  and  look 
at  the  Latin  quarter,  but  in  summer  it  is  like  the  poorer 
part  of  every  other  city;  it  only  wakes  in  fall  and  winter. 
If  I  pass  along  any  of  the  great  thoroughfares  now  I  shall 
find  all  Paris  abroad.  How  many  strange  and  interesting 
types  there  are.  Even  the  street  cries  are  individualized, 
and  one  huckster  sings  his  wares  in  melodious  measure, while 
another  attracts  the  attention  by  blowing  a  short  melody  at 
intervals  on  a  musette.  There  is  your  Parisian  flaneur,  who 
stops  at  the  shop  windows  or  sits  down  at  a  table  on  the 
sidewalk  and  dawdles  over  his  glass  of  vermouth  or  ab- 
sinthe. There  is  a  dangerous  chance  that  if  you  sit  down 
at  one  of  the  cafe  tables  alone  you  will  have  more  female 
society  than  you  desire  inside  of  five  minutes.  But  I  can 
mention  an  infallible  way  to  get  rid  of  persistent  beggars  of 
all  descriptions  and  both  sexes  in  France.  Simply  shake 
your  head  in  a  puzzled  manner  and  say  ' ' Sprechen  sie 
DeutscW"  They  will  leave  you  more  rapidly  than  if  yo\x 
told  them  j^ou  had  a  combination  of  cholera,  smallpox,  and 
diphtheria. 

The  boulevards  are  Paris  to  many  Americans,  and  not 
unjustly  so,  for  they  reflect  every  phase  of  the  seething  life 
of  the  metropolis,  they  are  essentially  French,  and  therefore 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  1<J  1 

doubly  attractive  to  the  American.  Every  man  admires 
(for  a  certain  time)  things  that  are  exotic.  I  had  a  proof 
of  this  in  a  French  boot  store,  where  I  was  upon  the  point 
of  buying  a  brilliant  pair  of  patent  leathers ,  when  the  dealer 
to  clinch  matters,  said:  "They  are  the  finest  American 
leather!"  and  showed  me,  on  the  inside,  a  stamp,  "New 
England  leather"  with  an  American  flag  waving  over  it. 
That  settled  it:  I  had  not  come  to  Paris  to  buy  American 
leather;  I  had  bowed  before  the  French  calf  too  long  for 
that.  The  painful  part  of  it  all  is  that  I  am  firmly  con- 
vinced that  the  leather  never  saw  America,  and  that  it  was 
only  the  exotic  idea  gone  rampant.  Speaking  of  French 
calf,  I  saw  an  American  calf  at  the  barber's  recently.  The 
tonsorial  artist  was  about  20  years  old,  and  the  shavee  was 
earnestly  asking  him  if  he  had  fought  in  the  Franco-Prussian 
war!  He  must  have  been  about  one  year  old  when  it  took 
place,  but  I  suppose  my  compatriot  ranked  him  with  the 
infantry! 

But  now  I  have  become  a  trifle  weary  with  my  peripa- 
tetic investigations,  and  cross  the  Seine  to  one  of  the  de- 
lightful swimming  baths  on  the  other  side,  pausing  by  the 
way  to  look  at  the  second-hand  book  stalls  along  the  edge 
of  the  embankment  which  possess  a  never  ending  interest  to 
the  antiquary.  Then  to  the  English  cafe  and  bar  (rather  a 
dissipated  place)  in  the  Rue  Scribe  where  I  find  a  waiter  who 
gives  me  a  pathetic  account  of  how  he  was  struck  by  John 
L.  Sullivan  on  his  way  back  from  his  French  defeat.  Our 
charming  Bostonian  was  a  trifle  drunk  and  more  than  a  trifle 
sulky,  and  the  garcon  got  no  fee  whatever,  but  a  little 
local  celebrity  as  the  man  who  was  hit  by  "our  John." 

America  is  known  abroad  chiefly  by  two  things — its  den- 
tistry and  its  drinks.  But  put  not  your  trust  in  the  latter. 
Every  cafe  has  up  its  sign,  "Boissons  Americains."  These 
cafes  are,  however,  entirely   innocent  of  the  masteries  of 


192  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

cocktails,  punches,  sherry  cobblers,  and  other  American  in- 
stitutions. The  sign  generally  simply  means  that  the  pro- 
prietor has  bought  a  bottle  of  rye  whisky.  But  this  bar 
was  of  another  order,  and  had  graduated  in  the  higher  school 
of  American  art.  It  was  a  sort  of  thirt}T-third  degree  of  an 
irrigation  asylum.  While  eating  an  English  chop,  which 
had  so  shrunk  in  the  making  that  it  seemed  nothing  but  ^ 
suggestion,  I  watched  one  side  of  Anglo-American  existence. 
There  was  gambling,  but  it  was  not  of  the  exciting  ordei 
where  a  fool  could  part  with  the  whole  of  his  money  with  a 
degree  of  "soonness"  not  contemplated  even  in  the  proverb. 
A  number  of  Englishmen ,  whose  horse  talk  led  me  to  be- 
lieve them  jockeys,  were  shaking  dice  for  five-franc  pieces. 
I  waited  in  vain  for  one  of  them  to  ruin  himself,  and  go  out 
and  throw  himself  into  the  Seine,  thus  giving  me  a  para- 
graph that  would  brighten  up  my  chapters  like  a  New  York 
gas  company.  When  I  saw  one  party  lose  forty  dollars  I 
had  great  hopes ;  but  when ,  instead  of  sacrificing  himself  to 
help  me  along,  he  simply  fell  to  swearing,  I  left  in  disgust. 

And  now,  it  being  long  past  noon,  I  felt  that  I  could  show 
myself  as  a  boulevard  flaneur,  without  being  considered  a  pa- 
riah. It  would  puzzle  Webster  and  Worcester  to  exactly 
define  the  verb  flaner;  it  is  something  more  active  than 
loafing,  and  less  energetic  than  strolling  or  promenading. 

It  is  a  difficult  art  to  acquire,  the  faculty  of  dawdling 
along  the  broad  sidewalk,  sitting  down  and  sipping  coffee, 
ice  or  absinthe  at  a  cafe,  looking  in  at  every  shop  window, 
reading  every  poster  on  the  kiosks,  and,  in  short,  doing 
nothing  in  the  most  skillful  manner.  Of  course  the  slight- 
est event  draws  a  crowd.  I  joined  one  large  gathering  and 
beheld  a  few  boys  playing  peg-in-the-ring,  another  and  saw 
two  men  mildly  chiding  each  other,  a  third  and  found  a 
lad  selling  puzzles. 

I  dropped  in  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Regence,  and  found  it  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  193 

same  chess  resort  as  of  old,  when  Morphy  used  to  play  every 
day  at  one  of  the  tables.  With  a  quiet  game,  dedicated  to 
the  goddess  Caissa,  I  refreshed  myself  from  my  wanderings 
and  started  anew  on  my  journey  " twice  round  the  clock." 

After  this  it  was  past  three  o'clock,  and  I  went  to  the 
Pare  Monceau.  At  four  o'clock,  what  is  left  of  the  best  of 
Paris  may  be  found,  in  the  pleasant  months,  either  here  or 
at  the  Buttes-Chaumont,  listening  to  the  music  of  military 
bands.  The  latter  place  is  the  best  to  visit,  for  its  scenery 
is  beautiful,  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was  once  the  Tyburn  of 
Paris.  Intermingled  with  the  auditors  I  saw  a  type  which 
must  be  mentioned,  however  unwillingly,  in  a  description 
of  Paris. 

With  slim  and  graceful  waist,  with  eyes  of  unnatural 
brightness,  lips  too  deeply  red,  well -fitting  and  graceful 
dress,  Men  gante  altogether,  was  the  "strange  woman."  It 
was  probably  the  beginning  of  her  moth-like  day,  and,  she 
would  flutter  around  the  glare  of  the  city  for  the  next  ten 
or  twelve  hours. 

And  now  I  bethought  me  of  the  possible  close  of  her 
glittering  existence,  and  my  thoughts  and  footsteps  turned 
toward  the  mysterious  temple  which  ought  to  be  the  shrine 
of  the  goddess  of  the  darfc  side  of  Paris — the  morgue.  It 
was  comparatively  untenanted  when  I  arrived  there;  a  body 
of  a  man,  evidently  of  the  working  class,  and  some  fifty 
years  of  age,  lay  extended  upon  a  slab,  with  a  slight  stream 
of  water  trickling  over  the  face.  There  was  no  opportunity 
to  soliloquize  over  "one  more  unfortunate,"  although  had 
I  been  a  day  earlier  I  should  have  seen  a  sight  to  thrill  all 
susceptible  readers.  A  gentleman  named  Mielle,  of  an  an- 
atomical turn  of  mind,  had  enticed  a  friend  into  his  house 
and  practiced  carving.  He  also  took  his  friend's  valuables 
to  pay  for  his  trouble  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  knife. 
The  latter  certainly  felt  very  much  cut  up  about  it ,  and  the 


191  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

morgue  authorities  put  the  slices  on  exhibition  to  improve 
Parisian  morals 

I  cannot  see  that  any  good  object  is  served  by  the  facility 
of  admission  to  this  place. 

Going  back  to  the  hotel,  I  stopped  at  the  American 
Exchange,  to  get  a  bit  of  United  States  to  contrast 
with  the  sensationalism  which  characterizes  France.  It 
is  a  pleasant  thing  that,  since  we  have  developed  into 
a  traveling  nation,  we  have  taught  the  tourist  nation 
of  the  world — England — many  points  of  comfort,  and 
chief  among  these  are  the  exchanges,  where,  in  the  midst 
of  a  foreign  land,  one  can  sit  under  an  American  flag, 
read  the  American  papers,  look  at  American  faces,  and 
talk  about  home.  No  British  consulate  can  afford  this 
to  the  Englishman,  and  no  nation  has  as  well  organized 
tourists'  headquarters  abroad  as  we  possess  in  the  leading 
European  cities .  You  must  pardon  my  patriotic  enthusiasm , 
and  remember  that  the  farther  one  gets  from  home  the 
more  it  bubbles.  At  the  hotel  I  joined  forces  with  a  young 
American,  and  started  out  for  exploration  of  Paris  by  night. 
The  early  evening  in  Paris  presents  nothing  vastly  different 
from  any  other  large  city  at  the  same  hour;  the  working 
classes  are  returning  home,  the  boulevards  are  thronged 
with  promenaders,  and  the  aristocracy  are  dining.  For 
the  time  being  we  voted  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  aristocracy, 
and  driving  to  Marguery's,  we  were  soon  dining  under  the 
supervision  of  a  gorgeous  being  who  plied  us  with  all  lux- 
uries from  turtle  soup  to  Hamburg  grapes  and  black  coffee, 
while  we  watched  the  constant  flow  of  life  along  the  boul- 
evard; and  here  again  we  could  notice  the  French  working 
girl,  on  her  homeward  way.  She  does  not  dress  as  showily 
as  her  American  sister;  she  frequently  goes  bareheaded,  but 
is  neat,  and  as  full  of  chatter  as  an  English  sparrow.  She 
may  not  earn  much,  but  I  believe  that  she  enjoys  life. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  195 

When  the  stream  had  assumed  another  phase,  and  the 
toilers,  the  late  shoppers,  and  the  idle  promenaders,  the 
most  innocent  flaneurs,  had  disappeared,  and  the  laughing, 
chatting  pleasure-seekers  of  the  night  began  to  appear,  we 
made  our  plunge  into  the  vortex. 

Paris  life  resolves  itself  into  a  formula  as  regards  its 
amusements;  that  is,  there  is  a  special  night  which  is  by 
common  consent  devoted  to  fashion  in  each  pleasure  resort; 
Saturday  night  the  circus,  Thursday  night  the  Eden 
Theatre ,  etc .  And  now  we  were  again  emharras  de  r (chesses; 
the  amusements  at  the  various  houses  tend  all  the  way  from 
the  Comedie  Francaise  to  the  Folies  Bergeres.  At  the 
Francaise  you  have  the  best  company  of  actors  in  the  world, 
and  all  the  traditions  of  French  art  are  faithfully  adhered 
to.  But  the  American  auditor  will  not  readily  accustom 
himself  to  the  sing-song  style  of  delivery  used  in  the 
rhymes,  and  he  must  bear  in  mind  that  in  all  the  classical 
plays  of  France,  rhyme  is  used  as  blank  verse  is  with  us. 
This  becomes  unbearable  when  applied  to  Shakespeare,  and 
"Hamlet"  would  make  the  skeletons  of  Shakespeare  and 
Bacon  dance  a  pas  de  deux . 

The  Folies  Bergeres  is  the  other  extreme,  and  will  be 
mentioned  later. 

As  a  well-behaved  journalist  I  know  that  I  have  not  time 
to  sit  out  any  theatre  performance,  yet  I  gravitate  toward 
the  Eden  Theatre  simply  because  the  way  is  attractive,  (let 
some  moralist  make  a  point  here) ,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I 
am  looking  at  the  time-honored  ballet  of  "Excelsior," 
which  they  seem  determined  to  give  in  Paris  until  the  corps 
de  ballet  die  off.  The  theatre  is  especially  brilliant  on  this 
night,  and  the  Oriental  (but  tawdry)  effects  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  foyer  are  set  off  by  elegant  costumes  (not  any 
of  the  female  portion  of  the  audience  are  in  full  evening 
dress,  however),  and  there  are  several  leaders  of  the  "half- 


196  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

world"    present,    who   appear   not   especially  beautiful  of 
countenance,  but  attractive  in  manner  and  conversation. 
One  entr'acte  is  sufficient  and  we  make  a  dash  to  the  Folies 
Bergeres.     This  is  the  Mecca  of  a  great  many  American 
travelers  of  the  male  persuasion ,  who  fondly  imagine  that 
here  they  have  found  the  wild  life  of  the  metropolis.    This 
is  a  mistake,  or  at  least,  if  it  be  true,  the  whole  of  it  pro- 
vokes only  disgust,  and  certainly  demands  pity  from  every 
thinking  person.     The  performance  here  is  of  good  order, 
for  a  variety  show ,  but  the  attraction  for  the  travelers  afore- 
said is  in  the  constant  stream  of  promenaders  in  the  lobby 
and  in  the  restaurant  attached.   But  there  is  to  be  a  students' 
ball  to-night, and  we  may  not  stay  long  here  when  the  spir- 
its of  all  the  French  novelists  for  the  last  half  century  are 
beckoning  us  to  the  Quartier  Latin .    80  off  we  go ,  in  a  car- 
riage now,  stopping  only  long  enough  at  a  cafe  chantante  to 
see  that  it  is  Tony  Pastor  spiced  up  and  translated  into 
French ,  and  finally  arrive  at  the  orgie  sought  for .  All  is  glare 
and  glitter  here — thousands  of  gas  jets,  a  brassy  orchestra, 
a  large  dance  floor,  a  large  and  well  patronized  cafe  and  res- 
taurant .     It  is  impossible  to  den}^  that  the  whole  is  attractive 
at  first.    As  every  dance  seems  to  be  a  grotesque  quadrille, 
and  as  the  male  dancers  seem  to  be  performing  all  the  antics, 
I  cannot  get  a  lingering  suspicion  out  of  my  mind  that  they 
are  hired  to  do  it,  and  that  shrewd  Paris  is  speculating  on  a 
bygone  attraction.     I  find  no  students,  no  grisettes,no  bo- 
hemianism;  only  vulgarity  and  a  certain  amount  of  baccha- 
nalian excitement.      This  impression  is  rather  intensified 
when  two  females ,  dazzling  in  lace  and  satin ,  quarrel  over 
a  partner  and  come  to  blows.     A  fierce  and  repulsive  en- 
counter follows,  which  all  crowd  to  witness  and  none  try  to 
check,  until  the  victor  is  left  in  torn  finery,  mistress  of  the 
field;  then  the  dance  is  resumed.     As  entr'acte  between  the 
next  dances,  two  men  have  an  impromptu  encounter,  in 


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EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  197 

which  some  blood  is  shed,  not  in  the  romantic  duel  style,  but 
prosaically — from  the  nose.  Shades  of  all  the  romancers! 
Is  this  the  wild,  devil-may-care  Paris  you  have  described? 

But  the  general  hilarity  increases  with  the  increased  amount 
of  drinking,  and  now  the  women  outvie  the  men  in  vehe- 
mence of  gesture  and  action.  It  becomes  not  enjoyment, 
but  frenzy.  There  is  no  stretch  of  fancy  required  to  imag- 
ine these  creatures  dancing  the  Carmagnole,  instead  of  the 
Cancan, or  reveling  in  blood  instead  of  champagne.  We 
leave  the  place  a  little  after  midnight,  and  find  our  patient 
cabman  ready  for  further  investigations.  One  of  the  half- 
drunken  dancers  comes  to  our  carriage  and  asks  to  drive 
across  the  Seine  with  us.  As  we  trot  off  with  a  quiet  refusal 
she  screams  a  request  to  our  driver  to  upset  us.  There 
may  be  gayety  here,  but  we  have  not  the  keenness  to  dis- 
cover it. 

We  need  rest  (my  companion  and  I)  after  such  an  excite- 
ment, so  we  go  once  more  to  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens. 
Do  not  imagine  that  because  it  is  considerably  after  mid- 
night we  shall  find  it  deserted;  on  the  contrary,  the  crowd 
of  promenaders  is  so  great  that  one  can  scarcely  move  along; 
far  greater  is  this  throng  than  that  on  Broadway ,  New  York, 
at  3  p.  m.  on  a  fine  day;  only  Paris  can  show  us  such  a  sight 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  every  morning  at  that! 
An  hour  later  and  things  are  quiet,  but  the  more  dissipated 
revelers  are  still  awake,  and  if  you  want  proof  of  it,  we  can 
go  to  the  Brasserie  Moderne,  around  the  corner. 

The  Brasserie  Moderne  is  a  beer  saloon  on  a  very  large 
scale.  There  is  still  a  great  glitter  of  gas  lights,  but  there 
is  no  gilding,  and  no  attempt  at  such  elegance  as  we  found 
at  our  haunts  in  the  earlier  evening.  Champagne  has  been 
replaced  by  beer,  and  the  whole  tone  is  lowered.  It  is 
no  longer  the  aristocracy ,  but  the  democracy  of  dissipation. 
Yet  we  find  faces  here  a  little  tired,  and  I  fear  looking  a  little 


198  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

hungry,  that  we  had  seen  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening  in 
higher  quarters.     Is  is  difficult  now  to  keep  to  ourselves, 
for  these  parodies  of  gayety  come  each  instant  to  beg  a 
drink,  lunch,  anything.     But  we  have  laid  out  our  pro- 
gramme, and  although  pleasure,  and  even  interest,  have 
evaporated ,  we  shall  go  a  step  lower  still,  and  so  to  the  Cafe 
Frontin  (as  old  Pepys  would  say),  where  an  hour  longer  of 
this  life  is  allowed,   which  is  the  last.      It  is  now  nearly 
three  in  the  morning,  and  still  this  place  is  thronged,  and 
will  continue  so  until  the  lights  are  put  out.     All  the  faces 
here   are  of   lower  type;   sifting  after  sifting  has   taken 
place,  until  the  lower  grades  only  of  Parisian  dissipation  re- 
main.    I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  such  a  place,  for  it 
could  point  no  moral  and  adorn  no  tale;  but  I  felt  that  many 
a  life  had  gone  just  exactly  the  round  of  our  journe3r — not 
in  a  night,  but  still  in  a  fearfully  rapid  time — and  felt,  as  I 
did  at  the  end,  that  Paris  was  not  really  as  gay  as  it  was 
painted.     Of  course  this  gives  only  one  part  of  the  picture, 
but  this  is  a  very  large  one  in  Paris,  and  gives  color  to  al- 
most all  that  is  written  about  the  city.   And  now,  at  2:45  a. 
m.,  we  sought  a  healthier  atmosphere  in  the  great  markets 
— the  Halles  Centrales — -which  we  reached  just  in  time  to 
see  the  beginning  of  the  wholesale  trade  for  the  day,  which 
was  done  simply  by  ringing  a  bell  and  declaring  the  market 
open  for  wholesale  transactions.     The  carts  came  rolling  in 
from  the  country,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  see  the  ruddy  faces 
and  to  smell  the  grateful  odors  of  the  fruits  and  flowers.    A 
few  cafes  in  the  immediate  vicinity  had  just  opened,  and  we 
found  several  of  the  peasants  in  blouses  taking  a  light  re- 
past to  begin  the  day.     The  retail  market  would  not  begin 
until  five  o'clock,  so  there  was  a  constant  influx  of  wagons, 
and   of  market,  and   country   men.     A  woman  was  going 
around  among  these  with  a  coffee-can  strapped  to   her 
shoulders,  and  selling  a  mysterious  mixture  at  one  sou  a 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  199 

large  cup .  I  draw  the  line  at  bad  coffee ,  and  so  I  did  not  in- 
vestigate this,  but  I  joined  a  group  of  rustics  who  were  gath- 
ered about  a  large  kettle,  where  another  woman  sold  a  sort  of 
broth  and  bread  at  ten  centimes  (two  cents)  a  bowl, and, in 
the  interests  of  science,  partook  of  the  humble  fare.  It  was 
at  least  warm,  but  it  was  not  as  strong  as  Sullivan ,  and  re- 
minded me  of  the  Irishman's  soup,  which  was  made  by 
boiling  a  quart  of  water  down  to  a  pint  to  give  it  strength. 
Among  the  company  at  that  festive  board  was  a  sergent, 
who  was  taking  his  meal  with  an  evident  relish,  and  also 
taking  some  interest  in  me.  He  commended  the  soup,  he 
commended  the  weather,  he  was  satisfied  evidently  with 
himself  and  the  world,  and  possibly,  with  true  politeness, 
he  thought  he  was  cheering  some  foreigner  who  had  been 
wrecked  in  Paris  and  was  reduced  to  penury  and  weak  soup. 
And  now  it  was  broad  day;  our  round  had  been  completed, 
and  we  walked — we  had  dismissed  our  voiture — to  our  hotel. 
There  was  still  plenty  of  life  in  the  streets;  persons  con- 
nected with  early  traffic  were  hurrying  to  their  work,  and  a 
few  had  evidently  not  yet  finished  their  round  of  pleasure. 
Two  of  these  asked  us  to  assist  them  with  cab  fare  to  get 
home.  They  were  evidently  unable  to  walk,  and  as  it  was 
the  end  of  our  round,  we  assisted  them  to  end  theirs.  And 
so  our  last  two  types  of  Parisian  existence,  as  the  first  two, 
were  not  pleasing,  and  in  a  state  of  combined  melancholy 
and  drowsiness  we  sought  our  beds. 

If  I  have  devoted  something  of  space  to  the  wild  side  of 
Paris,  it  is  on  the  ground  of  this  being  a  leading  feature  of 
its  existence.  If  I  were  writing  from  Florence,  I  should 
speak  of  art;  from  Leipsic,  music;  from  Nice,  gambling; 
and  I  could  not  give  a  French  "Hamlet"  with  M.  Hamlet 
left  out. 

Paris  is  beautiful,  Paris  is  intellectual,  and  Paris  is  a 
home  of  true  art,  but  the  dangerous  elements  are  there,  all 


200  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

the  same,  and  once,  at  least,  I  saw  them  seethe  up  to  the 
top  of  the  cauldron.  I  had  arrived  in  the  cit}^  on  August 
7th,  1888.  Almost  upon  arrival  I  met  a  motley  procession 
of  men  and  boys  with  broomsticks,  near  the  Louvre;  "C'est 
la  greve!"  I  was  told.  The  strike!  So  then  even  in  gay 
Paris  there  was  hunger  and  discontent.  I  was  not  averse 
to  comparing  the  wolf  of  Paris  to  the  wolf  I  had  once  seen 
show  his  teeth  in  Trafalgar  square  in  London,  but  I  had  a 
more  indefinite  idea  of  a  French  mob,  and  somehow,  a  be- 
lief that  they  became  more  frenzied  and  turbulent  than  in 
colder  England . 

Nevertheless  the  next  day  found  me  equipped  for  the 
fray,  in  the  oldest  clothes  I  had  at  command,  and  with  a 
conviction  that  there  was  to  be  trouble,  for  had  I  not  read 
that  morning,  (Wednesday,  August  8),  an  inflammatory 
appeal  in  the  Homme  Libre  saying  that  "the  revolutionary 
committee,  and  the  old  members  and  combatants  of  the 
commune,  and  the  family  and  friends  of  the  deceased,  in- 
vite the  populace  of  Paris  to  assist  at  the  obsequies  of 
Citoyen  Emile  Eudes  at  10  o'clock  precisely."  "Who  was 
Emile  Eudes?  He  was  the  general  of  the  terrible  commune 
of  Paris,  the  editor  of  the  "Freeman, "  the  socialist  agitator; 
and  this  announcement,  coming  in  the  midst  of  grave  labor 
disturbances,  meant  that  the  scum  was  to  have  a  full  oppor- 
tunity of  bubbling  up,  that  communism  was  to  have  a  chance 
of  gathering  and  shouting  and  possibly  fighting,without  the 
government  having  the  power  to  prevent  the  meeting. 

I  was  soon  in  a  cab,  and  feeling  sure  that  no  trouble  would 
take  place  at  the  house  of  mourning  in  the  Rue  Reaumur, 
ordered  the  driver  to  tap  the  procession  at  the  Rue  du Tem- 
ple. Here  I  found  crowds  of  excited  people,  but  not  any 
of  the  dangerous  elements  as  yet .  The  shops  were  beginning 
to  close — an  ominous  sign.  The  procession  came;  not  in 
the  best  of  order,  but  still  impressive  enough .     The  striking 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  201 

workmen  carried  great  wreaths  of  red  immortelles ,  the  rev- 
olutionary committees  had  red  rosettes  and  red  banners  in- 
scribed "A  Blanqui,"  for  a  flag  of  any  color  may  be  carried 
in  a  Parisian  procession  if  it  has  an  inscription,  but  to  carry 
a  plain  red  or  a  black  flag  is  sedition.  Yet  there,  in  the 
rear  part  of  the  procession,  is  suddenly  upreared — the  red 
flag  of  anarchy!  I  leave  my  carriage  and  push  toward  the 
spot;  it  is  difficult  to  come  near,  for  the  press  is  terrible; 
there  will  be  room,  and  to  spare,  in  a  moment.  I  see  the 
flag  near  the  carriage  in  which  sits  Henri  Rochefort  with 
two  children  in  black,  the  daughters  of  the  dead  agitator. 

He  evidently  deprecates  this  defiance  of  the  law  and  rises 
to  speak;  he  implores  them  to  respect  the  safety  of  the  two 
fatherless  ones  with  him.  The  bearer  of  the  seditious  em- 
blem becoming  angry,  beats  the  banner  down  upon  his  hat 
and  shoulders.  The  driver  finally  forces  his  way  out  of 
the  procession  and  drives  Rochefort  away,  through  a  side 
street.  For  a  moment  I  think  of  following;  but  a  few  steps 
and  I  see  a  scene  which  holds  me  fast .  A  shot  is  heard ,  and 
then  another,  then  yells  and  tumult  indescribable  as  the 
crowd  surges  back  and  people  begin  running  up  the  sur- 
rounding streets.  The  soldiers  and  police  have  made  an 
ambuscade  without  a  word  of  warning,  some  with  revolvers, 
most  with  sabres  in  their  hands.  They  are  hacking  and 
hewing  their  way  to  the  flag.  A  charge  with  fixed  bayonets 
takes  place.  An  excited  lieutenant  screams  out,  "In  the 
name  of  the  law— disperse!— disperse!— give  up  your  flag!" 
A  gendarme  seizes  the  staff  and  breaks  it.  The  procession 
is  cut  in  two,  but  some  of  the  combatants  rally. 

I  see  some  throw  bottles  and  decanters  from  a  cafe,  which 
they  have  evidently  forced  open ,  at  the  heads  of  the  soldiers; 
one  quite  near  me  is  cut  and  bleeds,  and  tries  to  improvise 
a  bandage  with  a  newspaper.  Some  of  the  crowd  attack 
the  military  with  tables  and  chairs  taken  from  the  cafe  above 


202  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

mentioned,  which  seems  to  be  an  improvised  arsenal  for  the 
mob.  A  bomb  is  thrown  into  the  midst  of  the  mass  of 
military,  where  it  might  have  killed  friend  and  foe  alike 
had  it  gone  off,  which  it  fortunately  did  not. 

A  French  soldier  clubs  his  musket  and  aims  a  decisive 
blow  at  my  head,  which  fortunately  only  reaches  my  chest, 
but  causes  me  to  speak  French  more  rapidly  than  I  had 
ever  done  before,  and  explain  that  I  am  an  innocent  jour- 
nalist and  musician,  who  does  not  intend  to  harm  the  gov- 
ernment of  France,  if  it  behaves  itself.  When  I  recover 
my  breath,  and  find  myself  unmolested,  I  push  for  a  place 
of  safety,  which  I  find  just  back  of  the  hearse.  On  my  diffi- 
cult way  thither  I  see  an  earnest,  gaunt  female  in  black, 
tossed  about  like  a  chip  on  the  waves;  she  clings  to  me  as 
I  go,  and  we  both  finally  pull  out  of  the  turmoil.  It  is  a 
tall  woman  with  a  veil  of  crape  on  her  head.  The  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  is  something  far  more  awful  than 
grief.  She  astonishes  me  a  little  later  by  making  a  wonder- 
ful speech  at  the  grave.  It  is  the  most  dangerous  yet  the 
most  earnest  woman  in  France,  the  Vierge  Rouge,  the1 'Red 
Virgin" — Louise  Michel. 

But  the  flag  is  gone,  and  the  head  of  the  procession  moves 
on,  and  as  I  see  that  the  riot  is  nearly  done,  for  the  police 
are  already  marching  off  with  prisoners,  I,  with  one  me- 
mento of  the  row  in  the  shape  of  that  solid  knock  in  the 
ribs,  struggle  out  of  the  crowd  in  order  to  be  at  the  ceme- 
tery in  time  for  the  interment — for  all  this  scene  did  not 
take  ten  (possibly  not  five)  minutes.  I  am  fortunate 
enough  to  find  another  voiture,  and  drive  to  the  gates  of 
Pere-la-Chaise.  The  cafes  are  closing  here  too,  but  I  man- 
age to  get  a  glass  of  wine  and  have  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  with  Mr.  Cleveland  Moffett  of  the  New  York  Herald, 
and  through  the  rest  of  the  day  we  join  forces.  The  corres- 
pondents are  all  on  deck  to-day,  for  we  soon  meet  Ives  of 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES  203 

the  London  Times  and  Bonsell  of  the  New  York  World. 
I  do  not  present  the  most  heavenly  appearance  in  the  world 
at  this  time,  for  my  hat  is  crushed  in,  my  collar  is  trying  to 
crawl  down  into  my  vest  pocket,  and  my  shirt  has  per- 
spired itself  into  a  rich  coffee  color,  and  at  the  close,  if  I  do 
not  resemble  "Ajax  defying  the  lightning,"  I  certainly 
feel  like  a  jackass  defying  the  thermometer,  a  role  in  which 
I  decline  to  appear  again.  Mr.  Moffett  and  I,  however, 
move  through  the  ranks  of  police  and  military  into  the 
cemetery. 

I  cannot  tell  how  strange  that  resting-place  of  the  dead 
seemed  that  noon  of  August  8.  Fierce  looking  men  in 
blouses  and  in  rags  are  there;  even  women  have  scrambled 
up  to  the  top  of  some  of  the  higher  tombs,  and  all  are  shout- 
ing: "Vive  la  Commune!  Vive  laGreve!  Vive  la  Revo- 
lution Sociale!"  I  heard  but  few  shouts  for  Boulanger. 
We  are  fortunate  again ,  for  as  the  procession  comes  up  the 
avenue,  the  seven  red  ribbons  running  from  the  hearse 
being  held  by  seven  prominent  communists,  we  push 
close  to  the  foot  of  the  coffin  and  are  allowed  to  pass  with- 
out great  trouble,  although  of  course,  still  tossed  and 
pressed  by  the  tremendous  crowd,  estimated  at  20,000. 

There  is  no  music  in  the  terrible  procession,  and  no  re- 
ligious emblem  of  any  kind,  only  the  large  red  wreaths 
carried  by  the  societies.  We  push  on  toward  the  open 
tomb,  into  which  the  coffin  is  hurriedly  lowered  some  10 
feet.  The  crush  and  tumult  has  now  increased  so  greatly 
that  many  of  the  trophy-bearers  cannot  come  near  the  tomb. 
One  of  them  calls  to  me  and  flings  his  great  wreath  of  im- 
mortelles into  my  hands,  with  a  request  that  I  place  it  in 
the  grave.  This  insures  my  place  more  than  ever,  for  I 
look  disreputable  enough  for  an}r  deed,  and  I  have  now  a  semi- 
official duty  at  the  front.  But  our  position  is  more  pre- 
carious than  even  in  the  Place  Voltaire  during  the  slaughter, 


204  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

for  sometimes  the  crowd  becomes  unmanageable  and  we  are 
in  danger  of  all  being  pushed  into  the  deep  hole.  I  have 
heard  of  men  having  one  foot  in  the  grave,  but  Ihaveno 
ambition  to  have  two  feet  in  it,  and  another  man's  grave  at 
thatl 

And  now  the  services  begin.  M.  Vaillant  speaks,  but  no 
one  can  hear  a  word,  not  even  I,  four  feet  away.  Arnauld 
follows;  a  genteel,  refined  looking  man,  with  eyeglasses 
and  a  gray  moustache.  His  words  are  well  chosen,  and 
seem  to  indicate  a  man  of  culture.  Decidedly  in  the  party 
of  anarchy  extremes  meet.  Even  he  is  not  listened  to  (the 
French  reporters  acknowledged  ignorance  of  the  speeches 
the  next  day),  and  the  noise  is  dreadful.  But  now  the 
woman  at  my  side  lifts  her  voice,  and  the  roars  are  hushed; 
right  or  wrong,  Louise  Michel  is  a  woman  who  will  com- 
mand attention.  What  fierce  power!  What  intense  brevity! 
"He  had  no  church  but  the  church  of  humanity;  he  had  no 
creed  but  to  help  us  disinherited  ones;  he  had  no  faith  but 
that  of  liberty!" — those  words,  with  the  impressive,  spon- 
taneous manner  in  which  they  were  said,  ring  in  my  ears 
yet,  and  were  more  dangerous  than  a  dozen  red  flags  to  the 
cause  of  conservative  government;  and  the  crowd  burst 
forth  with  one  wild  shout  of  "Vive  la  Commu-u-u-u-ne!" 
dwelling  on  the  last  syllable  as  if  loth  to  relinquish  it. 
Vastly  different  were  some  of  the  other  speeches,  which  were 
read  from  manuscript  and  sounded  like  commencement-day 
essays . 

M.  Felix  Pjat  won  attention,  however.  Gray-bearded 
and  gray-haired,  with  blazing  eyes  and  vehement  manner, 
often  beating  his  breast,  he  also  spoke  for  "  the  great  army 
of  the  disinherited."  "  Citoyens!"  he  said  (for  the  revo- 
lutionary appellation  is  the  only  one  tolerated  by  the  com- 
munists)— "Cito3rensl  not  these  immortelles,  not  these;  the 
immortality  of  man,  of  liberty,  shall  speak  for  this  dead 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  205 

hero!"  An  excitable  communist  at  the  end  of  the  speech 
seized  on  M.  Pyat  and  embraced  him  and  kissed  him  over 
and  over  again  in  that  slobbering  fashion  which  is  in  vogue 
among  continental  Europeans.  "  The  commune  is  coming 
soon,  very  soon,"  was  the  substance  of  Dr.  Susini's  tirade, 
and  a  shout  of  "  Vive  le  drapeau  rouge!"  followed. 

There  had  been  dignity  in  at  least  some  of  these  speeches, 
but  things  tapered  down  rapidly.  M.  Elie  May  spoke  well, 
but  the  ridiculous  element  soon  crept  in,  even  at  the  side 
of  the  open  grave,  for  a  striking  coachman  named  Moore 
must  needs  get  on  a  bench  and  recite  some  doggerel  verses 
on  liberty,  equality  and  fraternity,  of  interminable  length 
and  absurd  bombast.  Some  laughed,  some  applauded,  but 
no  one  seemed  to  remember  that  a  funeral  was  going  on. 
The  sweltering  heat  and  the  ferocious  surging  of  the  crowd 
caused  many  to  faint,  and  some  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
being  trampled  to  death;  but  at  last  it  was  over;  that  coach- 
man's rigmarole  was  the  benediction,  and  the  crowd  began 
to  disperse.  Near  the  gate  of  the  cemetery  we  found  large 
detachments  of  the  Garde  Republicaine  drawn  up,  with  loaded 
muskets,  ready  to  cool  off  any  too  fiery  enthusiasm  that 
might  have  been  kindled  by  the  speeches . 

Nothing  but  a  stoning  of  the  poliee  and  a  few  broken 
heads  resulted,  however.  I  heard  rumors  that  over  100  were 
wounded,  some  mortally,  in  the  riots  connected  with  the 
flag,  but  this  can  probably  never  be  accurately  known,  for 
many  were  carried  off  by  friends.  The  rest  of  the  day,  as 
a  fitting  appendix  to  the  proceedings  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  I 
spent  in  interviewing  some  of  the  leaders  of  u  the  revolu- 
tion." M.  Jules  Brisson,  the  editor  of  uLe  Parti  National," 
was  found  in  his  sanctum  and  spoke  freely.  He  said  that 
things  were  not  unanimous,  that  the  leaders  were  afraid  to 
displace  the  ministry  of  Floquet  for  fear  that  Jules  Ferry 
would  come  in.     That  would  be  out  of  the  frying  pan  into 


206  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

the  fire.  He  believed  that  the  rioting  was  incited  by  Orle- 
anist,  Napoleonic  and  German  money  1  He  thought  the 
day  was  a  triumph . 

I  went  to  the  Bourse  de  Travail,  the  labor  headquarters, 
believing  that  some  of  the  leaders  might  be  found  there, 
but  found  instead  a  platoon  of  the  Garde  Republicaine  with 
fixed  bayonets,  and  a  placard  over  the  door, " La  Bourse  de 
-Travail  est  momentanement  fermee . ' '  The  police  were  keep- 
ing the  crowd  in  motion.  It  was  the  Trafalgar  square 
business  (of  which  hereafter) ,  translated  into  French ,  only 
instead  of  "Pass  along,  please,' '  it  was  "  Circulez  Mes- 
sieurs," whether  they  pleased  or  not.  I  must  compliment 
the  French  journalists  for  enterprise;  three  hours  after  the 
events  described  above,  they  were  out  with  a  column  of  in- 
teresting details  of  the  matter — although  they  did  not  get 
the  speeches.  The  "local"  work  of  the  Paris  journals  is  as 
good  as  the  "telegraph"  work  is  bad,  but  then  to  the  aver- 
age Frenchman  there  is  no  news  outside  of  Paris.  He  believes 
Paris  is  the  world .  In  one  of  the  schoolboy  essays  of  the 
morning,  a  speaker  stated  that  "  the  eyes  of  the  universe 
are  on  Paris  to-day,"  and  he  but  voiced  the  Gallic  idea,  not 
only  for  that  day,  but  for  every  day,  including  Sunday. 

I  had  an  interview  with  one  of  the  representative  com- 
munists in  the  evening.  M.  Elie  May  is  the  head  of  one  of 
the  largest  and  most  zealous  of  the  seditious  societies.  In- 
telligent in  face  and  manner,  charming  in  speech,  he  but 
impressed  me  how  easily  a  sincere  man  who  brooded  over 
the  misery  of  many  of  the  race  could  be  led  into  Utopian 
ideas.  He  said  that  communists  did  not  desire  absolute 
equality  of  property,  but  that  the  great  disproportion  must 
be  abolished.  Starvation  and  wretchedness  must  be  made 
impossible.  There  must  be  a  universal  republic  in  which 
all  must  labor.     Would  this  come?     Yes,  within  ten  years. 

Eventually  they  all  hoped ,  he  said ,  for  a  United  States  of 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  207 

Europe,  in  which  all  the  nations  but  America  would  join. 
Our  own  United  States  was  their  model;  they  desired  nothing 
better  than  such  freedom  and  order.  Alas,  and  alas!  it  was 
an  idealistic  picture;  he  did  not  know  how  this  very  freedom, 
this  opening  of  our  doors  to  all  the  world  (except  to  the 
Chinese,  who  have  no  political  influence),  was  debasing  our 
own  fair  land  and  breeding  a  dark  future.  He  did  not  see 
how  the  divided  counsels  of  his  followers,  their  lack  of 
practical  experience,  and  blind  hatred  of  power,  would  de- 
stroy more  comfort  than  it  ever  would  build  up.  He  did 
not  see  that  an  illiberal  liberalism  (which  communism  cer- 
tainly is)  is  the  most  autocratic  form  of  government.  He 
did  not  see  that  some  of  his  very  followers  desired  license 
rather  than  liberty.  He  only  saw  that  many  people  were 
starving  and  other  people  were  rich,  and  was  impatient  to 
right  this  wrong.  God  save  France !  And  yet  such  false  pro- 
phets may  do  good  in  the  end.  Agitation  is  always  the  best 
course  for  those  who  have  wrongs  to  be  redressed,  even  if 
they  themselves  know  not  the  best  ways  of  redressing  them. 
"August  8,  1888"  proved  that  in  Paris,  at  least,  the  upper 
classes  are  dancing  on  a  volcano,  and  that  the  elements  which 
existed  in  1793  are  not  yet  entirely  obliterated. 


208  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  great  exposition  at  paris — a  musical  day — an  Al- 
gerian CONCERT INTERVIEW  WITH  MASSENET UNEXPEC- 
TED   JURY    DUTY A    NIGHT    AT    THE  OPERA  WITH  MASSENET 

THE    GRAND    OPERA SYBIL  SANDERSON  AND  EMMA  EAMES 

ART    IN    PARIS AN    ANNAMITE    CONCERT. 

The  next  year  I  again  found  myself  in  Paris  and  at  a  bury- 
ing party,  for  Felix  Pyat,  the  socialist  mentioned  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  was  dead,  and  I  confidently  expected  another 
little  fight  on  the  occasion  of  the  funeral.  A  few  boys 
feebly  shouted  "  Vive  la  Commune,"  a  few  red  flags  were 
waved,  and  that  was  all,  where  the  preceding  year  a  terrific 
mob  of  20,000  stood.  Instead  of  long  lines  of  cavalry  and 
infantry^,  a  few  policemen  were  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  strolling 
about  as  if  they  were  there  for  "their  health.  Why  was  it 
so,  and  why  did  even  the  trial  of  Boulanger  attract  onlyT  a 
hundred  or  so  to  hear  it?  Because  Paris  had  a  new  toy; 
because  so  long  as  the  exposition  was  open  all  the  Boulan- 
gers  in  the  world  could  not  excite  the  city  to  revolt. 

Yet  the  exposition  wTas  far,  far  more  than  a  toy.  To  have 
the  world  placed  in  a  condensed  form  in  a  few  square  miles  of 
space,  is  the  grandest  object  lesson  imaginable.  Ten  cents 
(for  the  stores  sold  the  tickets  at  that  price)  admitted  to  it 
all,  or  very  nearly  all,  for  the  side  shows  were  inconsider- 
able. There  was  one  characteristic  of  the  great  fair  which 
only  Paris  could  present,  and  that  was  the  cosmopolitan  and 


EMMA  EAMES, 

AS    JULIET. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  209 

polyglot  character  of  the  public   itself;  and  the  "  street  of 
habitations"  was  a  proof  of  the  avidity  with  which  the  ori- 
entals seize  upon  an  excuse  to  come  to  Paris.    For  example 
in  "  a  house  of  the  time  of  Sesostris  "  I  found  an  Egyptian 
beauty,  not  of  the  time  of  Sesostris,  who  sold  me  some 
Egyptian  cigarettes  before  I  had  time  to  escape.   In  the  an- 
cient Arabic  dwelling  there  was  a  sign  "  English  spoken," 
which  somewhat  marred  the  ancient  effect,  and  after  all,  the 
inhabitant  only  spoke  broken  English ,  for  he  stuttered .     In 
another  ancient  Arabic  house  I  found  upon  the  table  of  the 
bazaar  some  regular  peanuts,  or  southern  u goobers,"  which 
here  were  called  "  Kacaguettes . "     What's  in  a  name?     I 
suppose  the  Cairo  boys  eat  Kacaguettes  and  throw  the  shells 
from  the  gallery  of  their  theatre,  the  same  as  boys  do  in 
New  York.     In  the  Russian  house  I  went  in  for  a  regular 
Muscovite    meal,  and    took    a    bowl    of    Russian    soup. 
"  Bortzsch  "it  is  called  and  it  is  as  full  of  cabbage  as  of 
consonants.     It  is  made  by  stewing  all  the  vegetables  you 
can  gather,  together  with  meat  and  vinegar,  and  then  add- 
ing some  sour  cream !  !     Liszt  used  to  be  very  fond  of  this 
dish,  but  I  did  not  (as  he)  produce  any  poemes  symphoniques 
after  it;  I  felt  more  like  a  set  of  Rhapsodies  Coliques.   How- 
ever, a  glass  Of  Vodki,  and  a  slice  of  cake,  also  made  with 
cabbage,  called Pirok,  made  me  feel  like  a  first-class  nihilist, 
and  some  qvass  (a  sort  of  cider  that  has  gone  wrong)  con- 
firmed the  impression. 

While  I  am  on  the  subject  of  foods  let  me  speak  of  a  few 
of  the  various  odd  dishes  which  were  obtainable:  Rouma- 
nian sausages,  Arabian  candy  (tastes  like  cold  cream),  Vi- 
ennese sausages  (a  dream  of  delight,  and  also  of  dire 
dyspepsia),  Tunisian  cake  ('tis  grease,  but  living  grease 
no  more),  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  As  to  drinks  a  toper  could 
get  drunk  in  forty  different  languages  in  the  road  leading  to 
the  Esplanade  des  Invalides.     Not  to  speak  of  fifty  kinds  of 


210  UROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

beer  (from  Norway,  Holland,  Austria,  France,  England, 
etc.,)  one  could  get  Spanish  wines,  Hungarian  wines,  Nor- 
wegian Aqua  Vit,  Egyptian  Raki,  Indian  Arrack,  Russian 
Vodki,  Polish  Kummel,  Roumanian  Slibovitska  (like  brandy 
with  castor  oil) ,  Tsuoika  (the  same  but  worse),  Swiss  Kirsch- 
wasser,  Amer  Picon  (this  was  distributed  gratuitously  and 
the  kiosk  was  crowded),  American  whisky,  and  then  at  the 
end  of  the  avenue  (the  largest  street  of  bar-rooms  I  have  ever 
seen)  the  faithful  investigator  could  find  the  police  station. 
I  was  saved  from  a  drunkard's  grave  by  hearing  a  drum 
rhythmically  beating  at  the  end  of  the  avenue.  Tracing 
the  sound  to  its  source  I  stumbled  upon  an  Algerian  con- 
cert in  full  blast.  It  was  genuine  enough  in  all  conscience, 
and  there  was  percussion  enough  to  have  made  Mr.  Theo- 
dore Thomas  fall  down  in  a  fit  had  he  heard  it.  A  really 
beautiful  girl  was  executing  a  coquettish  dance  with  a  mir- 
ror when  I  entered,  going  through  all  the  pantomime  of  the 
toilet  of  face  and  hair,  and  admiring  herself  as  she  did  so. 
After  this  a  negress  executed  a  scarf  dance  of  no  especial 
merit,  when  suddenly  a  demented  oboe  broke  loose  with  a 
series  of  shrieks  that  shook  my  nerves  so  that  I  will  never  be 
the  same  man  again.  These  explosions  were  but  the  prelude 
to  a  song  which  was  not  without  Its  charm  (in  fact  it  was  the 
one  musical  feature  of  the  concert)  having  tender  and  sad 
intervals,  sounding  somewhat  flat  of  our  scale  at  times,  and 
yet  not  being  the  scale  of  nature  either.  The  song  was  marred 
by  the  fact  that  it  had  about  153  verses.  The  lady  told  me 
in  broken  French  afterwards  that  it  was  the  song  of  welcome 
of  a  maid  to  her  returning  lover;  that  lover  must  have  been 
kept  standing  a  long  time.  All  this  was  like  the  Midway 
Plaisance  of  our  own  great  Exposition,  but  it  was  less  exotic 
in  Paris ;  the  picture  was  not  only  larger,  but  better  suited 
to  its  frame. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES-  211 

As  I  came  out  from  the  concert  I  heard  some  one  calling: 
"Effendi!  Effendi!"  As  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  an 
effendi  (I  am,  however,  a  regular  Boston  effendi,  living  in 
the  West  Endi!)  I  paid  no  attention,  but  kept  on.  Soon 
however,  an  Arab  plucked  me  by  the  arm.  He  had  seen 
me  taking  notes  and  wanted  to  go  down  "in  the  book." 
His  name  is  Isaac  Ben  Yeir  and  he  evidently  understands 
the  value  of  India-rubber  advertising.  Another  swarthy 
gentleman  standing  b}r,  on  learning  that  it  was  to  go  to 
America,  begged  hard  for  the  same  privilege,  but  his  name 
was  Raphael  Levi,  which  sounds  more  like  a  son  of  Chatham 
street  than  a  son  of  the  desert,  and  I  suspect  him  of  fraud, 
particularly  as  he  gave  me  an  Egyptian  cigar,  which  I  im- 
prudently smoked.  If  that  was  a  real  Egyptian  cigar  I 
know  a  way  by  which  the  country  may  be  wrested  from  its 
conquerors.  Let  the  Dervishes  advance  upon  the  English 
troops  smoking  those  cigars!  Yet  I  bought  a  few  of  them 
for  they  look  innocent,  and  I  may  sometime  be  at  a  supper 
with  my  brother  critics. 

I  have  already  animadverted  upon  the  habits  of  the  Eu- 
ropean in  having  every  mode  of  travel  divided  into  classes, 
very  often  with  no  other  distiction  between  them  than  that 
of  price.  Even  the  toy  railroad  at  the  exhibition  played  at 
having  "classes."  A  first-class  ticket  allowed  one  to  ride 
on  a  blue  seat,  while  a  second-class  passenger  must  ride  on 
a  yellow  one,  whether  it  suited  his  complexion  or  not.  By 
the  way,  it  was  a  spiteful  little  road,  for  while  it  printed 
warnings  not  to  put  out  head  or  legs,  in  Latin,  Arabic, 
Chinese,  Japanese,  Malay,  Hebrew,  Spanish,  Dutch,  Italian, 
and  a  dozen  other  tongues,  it  carefully  avoided  posting  up 
even  a  line  of  German .  The  Germans  might  put  their  heads 
out  and  get  them  smashed,  and  welcome. 

In  the  Rue  de  Cairo  (the  self-same  one   that  afterwards 


212  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

came  to  Chicago)  I  saw  the  dance  of  the  Almehs.  The 
usual  clatter  accompanied  the  wrigglings  of  a  beautiful, 
large-eyed  brunette.  Very  suggestive  are  these  dances,  yet 
they  seem  in  keeping  with  the  sensuous  beauty  of  some  of 
the  dancers.  But  why  did  this  particular  child  of  the  Orient 
take  all  the  romance  out  of  the  affair  by  producing  a  large 
bandanna,  as  she  resumed  her  seat,  and  blowing  her  nose  with 
frightful  vehemence!  Before  I  thought  her  a  siren;  now 
she  lingers  in  my  memory  rather  as  a  fog  horn. 

Some  men  achieve  greatness,  and  some  have  greatness 
thrust  upon  them .  My  temporary  greatness  all  came  through 
opening  the  wrong  door  in  the  Trocadero.  A  great  compe- 
tition of  the  leading  male  choruses  of  France,  for  a  prize  of 
honor  awarded  by  President  Carnot,  was  to  take  place  in 
that  palace  (in  the  exposition)  and  I  had  gone  thither  to  see 
how  the  French  male  chorus  compared  with  our  white- 
breasted  Apollos  of  Boston.  I  managed  to  get  into  the 
wrong  corridor,  and  after  wandering  through  a  labyrinth 
of  passages,  boldly  opened  the  first  door  that  came  to  hand, 
and  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  jovial  party  who  were 
lunching  in  the  most  convivial  manner;  it  was  the  jury  of 
awards  (musical)  who  were  thus  fortifying  themselves  for 
the  task  wiiich  awaited  them.  A  sudden  thought  came  to 
me  that  possibly  my  friend  of  Bayreuth,  M.  Lamoureux, 
might  be  among  them,  and  addressing  mj-self  to  a  pleasant- 
looking,  stout,  florid ,  gray-headed  gentleman  who  happened 
to  be  near,  I  gave  my  card  and  asked  for  the  famous  con- 
ductor. No,  he  was  not  there,  but  M.  Oscar  Comettant, 
the  celebrated  musical  author  (for  it  was  he)  was  quite  at 
my  service,  and  would  not  hear  of  my  withdrawing.  He 
wanted  to  present  me  to  a  brother  journalist,  and  one  who 
delighted  to  speak  English. 

A  moment  more  and  I  was  in  conversation  with  M.  Emile 
Devaux,  editor  of  the  Echo  des  Orpheons,  who  from  that 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  213 

moment  became  my  ''guide,  philosopher  and  friend."  He 
watched  over  me  like  a  guardian  angel,  and  determined  that 
I  should  miss  nothing  of  the  event  of  that  day  if  he  could 
help  it.  First  of  all,  he  introduced  me  to  M.  Massenet, the 
president  of  the  jury .  M.  Massenet  is  active,  genial,  and 
as  I  had  expected  from  his  music,  very  spontaneous.  The 
task  before  them,  he  said,  would  prevent  his  showing  me 
any  hospitality  then,  but  would  I  call  on  him  the  next  day 
at  6  p.  m.,  and  did  I  desire  to  come  to  "Esclarmonde?"  He 
would  send  me  a  couple  of  tickets! 

I  was  invited  to  sit  with  the  jury  (of  course  without  hav- 
ing a  vote)  and  left  the  lunch  room  with  them .  But  my 
guardian  angel,  known  to  men  as  M.  Devaux,  decided  that 
there  was  something  better  for  me.  I  saw  him  speak  to  some 
attendants,  who  immediately  disappeared  carrying  a  table 
covered  with  green  baize .  Soon  after  he  ushered  me  through 
a  little  side  door,  and  I  found  myself  on  the  stage  of  the 
Trocadero,  alone,  in  presence  of  an  audience  of  about  4,000 
people.  The  audience,  who  had  been  kept  waiting  over  the 
appointed  hour,  burst  into  applause  as  I  appeared,  thinking 
that  I  was  the  beginning  of  the  show,  as  I  certainly  was  in 
one  sense.  I  resisted  the  temptation  to  deliver  a  speech  in 
French,  and  marched  to  my  green  table,  on  which  were  pen , 
ink  and  paper,  with  the  dignity  becoming  an  American 
newspaper  correspondent,  and  looked  as  benignant  as  if  I 
were  the  founder  of  the  entire  contest. 

Fortunately  the  jury  soon  followed,  and  the  attention  of 
the  audience  was  drawn  away  from  me,  to  such  gentlemen 
as  Massenet,  Faure,  Pougin,  de  Lajarte,  Lory,  Comettant, 
Widor,  and  others,  who  composed  it.  All  through  the 
preliminary  contest  I  sat  at  my  table  taking  notes,  and  try- 
ing to  appear  as  if  I  had  the  prizes  in  my  pocket,  and  would 
present  them  presently.  The  contest  was  a  notable  and  a 
peculiar  one.     About  thirty  of  the  leading  male    choruses 


214  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

of  France  were  there  and  were  divided  into  four  groups,  all 
these  being  examined  simultaneously  in  four  halls  of  the 
palace.  When  the  best  societies  had  been  selected,  (one 
from  each  group),  these  were  to  compete  for  the  prix 
d'honneur.  Two  selections  were  sung  by  each  society ;  one 
being  left  to  their  own  choice,  the  other  being  a  choeur 
impose,  a  chorus  which  had  been  chosen  by  the  committee, 
and  which  each  club  was  obliged  to  sing.  This  chorus  was 
the  "Kamarinskaia,"  by  Laurent  de  Rille,  one  of  the  best 
chorus  composers  of  France.  I  was  introduced  to  M. 
de  Rille,  who  is  a  short,  slightly-built  man  with  wavy  gray 
hair,  and  that  nervous  and  high-strung  look  and  manner 
which  tells  of  genius  and  sensibility. 

He  gave  me  a  copy  of  the  chorus  alluded  to.  It  contains 
two  beautiful  Russian  airs,  as  well  as  some  delightful  work 
in  the  French  school,  with  very  effective  contrasts.  Also, 
Thomas'  "Nuit  de  Sabbat"  is  something  that  would  make 
a  hit  at  our  club  concerts,  if  the  tenors  could  stand  the 
work.  This  fact  struck  me  during  the  entire  concours,  the 
tenors  were  used  unsparingly,  and  often  in  a  demi-falsetto. 
Some  of  the  finest  tenor  choral  work  I  ever  heard  was  at 
this  contest.  M.  Massenet  told  me  afterwards  that  there 
is  a  difference  even  among  the  tenors  of  France,  the  finest 
tenor  voices  coming  from  the  department  du  Midi,  while 
the  robuster  voices  came  from  the  department  du  Nord. 
But  the  basses  seemed  weak  in  every  instance,  nothing  like 
what  we  hear  at  a  Cecilia  or  an  Apollo  concert.  As  each 
club  sang,  an  attendant  stood  behind  them  holding  up  their 
banner.  Most  of  the  clubs  were  in  full  dress,  but  some  had 
simple  uniforms.  There  were  more  swallow  tails  than  I 
had  ever  seen  gathered  together  before,  for  a  Frenchman 
appears  in  full  evening  dress  wrhenever  he  does  anything 
exceptional  or  public,  even  if  it  occurs  at  6  a.m.  Each 
club  intoned  three  times,  to  make  things  quite  sure.     Dur- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  215 

ing  that  contest  I  heard  the  "Kanmrinskaia"  sung  six  times, 
and  the  "  Nuit  du  Sabbat , "  (a  weird ,  uncanny ,  but  dramatic , 
affair),  four  times,  and  I  can  now  sing  either  of  these  with 
one  hand  tied  behind  my  back;  I  think  I  hum  them  in  my 
sleep.  The  choruses  were  of  widely  differing  sizes,  from 
40  to  160  members,  and  many  sang  without  notes. 

At  last  four  champion  societies  were  chosen,  and  then  the 
real  contest  began .  But  before  this  we  went  out  and  got 
refreshments.  During  this  interval  the  late  M.  Ambroise 
Thomas,  then  head  of  the  Conservatoire  and  the  most  honored 
composer  in  France,  came  in  and  assumed  the  presidency  of 
the  jury.  I  was  at  once  presented  to  him  as  a  wild  journalist 
fresh  from  the  New  World,  and  was  welcomed  with  dignity. 
A  tall  and  stately  man,  whose  form  was  a  little  bent  by  years 
and  labor,  whose  gray  locks  made  him  appear  like  an  ancient 
prophet,  the  formal  courtesy  which  he  possessed  fitted  him 
well,  even  if  one  was  more  warmed  by  the  friendly  ways 
of  Massenet.  His  keen  gray  eye  was  most  attractive,  and 
showed  a  man  thoroughly  in  earnest.  He  became  quite 
lively,  however,  when  I  spoke  of  our  Boston  singer,  Lillian 
Norton,  and,  after  the  contest  had  ended,  he  alluded  again 
to  the  noble  voices  which  came  from  America.  He  said,  on 
being  told  that  Mme.  Norton  had  graduated  at  the  New 
England  Conservatory ,  and  on  my  questioning  him  regard- 
ing his  own  conservatory,  that  he  believed  that  we  should 
encourage  our  native  talent  by  prizes,  just  as  they  do  in 
France.  He  added  that  there  were  good  pupils  at  the  Con- 
servatoire from  America,  mostly  in  voice,  and  spoke  with 
some  enthusiasm  of  American  sopranos.  He  regretted  that 
there  was  nothing  he  could  do  for  me,  since  he  left  Paris 
on  the  morrow.  The  next  day  there  came  to  my  hotel  his 
card  pour  prendre  conge, — his  politeness  had  been  punetil- 
ious  to  the  last. 

But  now  I  went  along  with  him  to  the  jury.     I  cannot 


216  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

tell  whether  the  public  regretted  losing  me  or  not,  but  I 
left  my  table  on  the  stage  and  sat  with  the  musicians  afore- 
said,  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall.  Gloriously  did  the 
four  champion  societies  sing,  but  finally  it  narrowed  down 
to  two.  "Les  Enfans  de  Paris' '  and  a  society  with  the 
strange  appellation  of  uLe  Cricksick  de  Tourcoing."  It 
seems  there  is  a  stream  called  Sick  Creek,  in  Tourcoing, 
(department  of  the  North) ,  and  this  society  had  adopted  it 
as  their  name.  The  award  was  difficult  to  make.  Never 
did  two  clubs  sing  better,  or  more  evenly.  The  committee 
were  puzzled.  "I  never  was  so  perplexed  in  my  life,' '  said 
Arthur  Pougin  to  me,  as  he  borrowed  my  pencil  to  vote 
with.  Besides  this  a  very  pretty  girl  in  the  gallery  dis- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  jury,  and  no  Frenchman  is  ever 
too  old  or  too  busy  to  notice  a  beautiful  maiden .  It  was  a 
mauvais  quart  d'heure  for  the  singers ,  after  they  had  finished; 
they  crowded  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  a  striking  picture 
of  full  dressed  suspense.  None  of  the  vast  audience  left, 
and  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop,  (particularly  if  it 
were  a  linch  pin  or  a  belaying  pin) ,  while  the  judges  were 
deliberating.  Finally  the  verdict  came,  eight  for  "Les 
Enfans  de  Paris/ '  seven  for  the  "Criksick  of  Tourcoing." 
'  4  The  Parisian  society  has  won , ' '  stated  the  secretary ,  ' '  but" 
— but  not  the  butt  of  the  wildest  goat  would  have  stopped 
the  shout  from  the  Parisians , — ' '  But !  but  I !  but ! ! ! "  shouted 
the  secretary,  finally  becoming  audible,  "the  contest  has 
been  so  exceptionally  close  that  the  secretary  of  the  interior 
orders  an  equal  prize  of  honor  to  the  Tourcoing  society 
also  "  Then  both  societies  left  the  palace,  waving  their 
banners  and  singing  paeans  of  triumph. 

The  next  day  the  promised  fauteuils  to  "Esclarmonde" 
at  the  Opera  Comique  were  sent  to  me,  and  at  6  p.  m.  I  went 
to  see  the  composer  as  agreed.  I  found  M.  Massenet  at  the 
piano,  pla}dng  an  arrangement  of  his  new  opera.     A  hand- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  217 

some  man  full  of  life  and  motion,  bright  black  eyes,  a  chubby, 
good-humored  and  attractive  face,  a  pointed  black  mous- 
tache, black  hair  brushed  straight  back  from  a  fine  forehead 
— voila  M.Massenet!  I  spoke  of  the  new  opera  at  once , 
and  asked  him  which  of  his  works  he  liked  best.  "Every 
father  likes  his  last  child  best,"  said  he,  "and  just  now  I 
prefer  'Esclarmonde.'  "  He  played  a  few  airs  from  this, 
finally  becoming  enthusiastic  and  singing  as  well,  in  full, 
clear  tones.  He  asked  about  his  works  in  America,  and 
when  I  told  him  of  the  warm  reception  of  his  suites  there,  he 
began  to  play  that  part  of  the  "Scenes  Pittoresques , ' '  where 
the  cracked  village  bell  calls  the  peasants  to  church.  He 
spoke  of  Miss  Sybil  Sanderson  (our  own  American  prima 
doDna),  as  the  ideal  of  "  Esclarmonde,"  which  was  in  fact 
written  for  and  dedicated  to  her.  "You  have  seen  the 
monsters  that  sometimes  appear  in  'Traviata,'  for  example? 
It  is  difficult  to  find  a  heroine  to  fit  a  part.  Well,  when 
Miss  Sanderson  sings 

'Oui  je  suis  belle  et  desirable.' 

[and  M.  Massenet  sang  the  phrase  at  the  piano]  it  suits  the 
case  exactly!" 

Of  American  music  he  knew  little,  but  spoke  enthusias- 
tically of  MacDowell's  works  that  he  had  heard,  and  men- 
tioned some  of  Chadwick's,  of  which  he  had  read  the  scores. 
"Where  did  they  study?"  he  asked,  and  then  suddenly 
he  became  very  emphatic  and  excitedly  earnest,  speaking 
most  rapidly  and  in  an  evident  state  of  enthusiasm.  He 
urged  the  necessity  of  forming  our  own  composers,  and  at 
home;  he  spoke  of  the  bane  of  rules  alone  which  crushed 
out  individuality;  he  cited  the  two  contrasting  cases  of 
Grieg,  who  had  retained  his  individuality  spite  of  study  in 
Germany,  and  Gade,  who  had  lost  his  and  become  a  reflec- 
tion of  Mendelssohn .     He  cited  the  case  of  a  Swedish  pupil 


218  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

who  studied  with  him  up  to  last  year  and  then  came  back 
and  wanted  more,  and  told  me  how  he  had  sent  him  home 
to  become  an  individuality,  to  look  at  his  blue  skies,  green 
fields  and  vast  mountains,  and  put  them  into  music;  and 
all  his  words  were  aglow  with  patriotism  and  lofty  inspira- 
tion. When  I  said  that  perhaps  our  mixed  races  militated 
against  the  evolution  of  a  true  national  school,  he  shouted: 
' '  It  must  be !  I  have  not  seen  your  country ,  but  I  have  seen 
pictures  of  your  great  Niagara,  your  deep  forests,  your  vast 
plains;  they  ought  to  inspire  music.  And  then  your  beau- 
tiful women !  Look  in  their  eyes  and  find  your  inspiration . ' ' 
[It  is  singular  that  Wagner  too  had  a  thought  similar  to  this, 
and  that  his  "Centennial  March"  was  evolved  by  it.]  "And 
it  must  be  no  copy  either,"  he  added  earnestly;  "the  Amer- 
ican school  must  be  eclectic." 

I  have  given  this  part  of  the  interview  with  much  care 
as  to  exactness,  for  I  consider  these  views  of  a  most  eminent 
French  composer  as  both  important  and  just.  Du  reste,  our 
conversation  need  not  be  so  exactly  quoted;  he  expressed 
almost  a  certainty  of  coming  to  America;  he  is  fond  of  con- 
ducting; he  was  at  work  upon  anew  opera  of  which  M. 
Richepin  furnished  the  libretto;  he  inquired  about  Ameri- 
can poets  and  poetry;  he  spoke  of  Miss  Sanderson's  high 
note  as  being  very  wonderful  (it  is  G  in  alt,  and  pure  as  a 
bell)  and  finally  gave  me  a  pass  to  go  back  of  the  scenes  at 
the  Opera  Comique,  saying  that  we  could  meet  on  the  stage 
after  the  third  act. 

The  evening,  therefore,  found  me  at  the  theatre  listen- 
ing to  "Esclarmonde."  I  will  not  write  about  this  in  de- 
tail, for  it  has  been  fully  reviewed  on  the  occasion  of  its 
earlier  performances,  but  I  must  say  that  the  librettists 
ought  to  be  hung  without  benefit  of  clergy.  The  plot  is 
just  on  a  par  with,  and  similar  to,  Wagner's  "Fairies." 
The  music  is  grand  and  lofty,  spite  of  the  heavy  handicap, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  219 

although  the  composer  is  obliged  to  repeat  himself  because 
of  the  absurd  prolixity  of  his  libretto.  There  was  a  fine 
tenor  robusto  in  the  cast,  M.  Gibert;  the  second  and  third 
acts  are  the  best;  and  Miss  Sanderson  carried  off  the  lion's 
share  of  the  applause,  with  a  sweet  voice  of  remarkable 
compass.  Almost  every  vein  of  composition,  from  rustic 
Villanelles  to  grand  climaxes,  is  represented  in  the  work. 

After  the  third  act  I  went  back  of  the  stage  as  agreed 
upon.  Massenet  was  cordial  and  natural  as  ever,  and  soon 
introduced  me  to  Miss  Sanderson  and  her  mother.  Miss 
Sybil  Sanderson  has  certainly  achieved  very  much  in  Paris 
and  seemed  quite  free  from  any  disposition  to  vaunt  her 
triumphs.  She  is  remarkably  attractive  personally,  and 
told  me  that  she  was  then  engaged  in  studying  Manon  with 
Massenet,  and  hoped  to  make  a  success  of  that  role  as  well, 
(which  she  has  since  done).  She  had  played  "  Esclarmonde" 
very  many  times,  she  told  me,  and  longed  to  essay  the  other 
part,  since  the  novelty  had  worn  off. 

The  call  boy's  bell  sent  me  off  the  stage,  right  into  a 
green  room  filled  with  members  of  the  corps  de  ballet.  I 
had  never  had  such  a  personal  interview  (or  let  us  drop  the 
"inter"  and  call  it  a  "personal  view")  with  a  French  ballet 
before.  From  close  observation  I  am  convinced  that  the 
French  ballet  girl  is  young,  attractive,  and  makes  a  very 
little  cloth  go  a  very  long  way  in  the  matter  of  dress. 
They  all  had  on  their  summer  clothes,  and  wore  their  war 
paint.  There  were  angels  with  pretty  wings  and  remarkable 
smiles;  there  were  demons  in  very  close-fitting  tights;  der 
mons  of  the  most  attractive  character;  demons  that  would 
make  most  charming  playmates.  But  when  one  of  these 
demons  came  toward  me  with  evident  intent  to  speak,  I 
remembered  that  I  was  a  citizen  of  Boston  and  turned  and 
fled. 

I  was  with  Massenet  again  two  days  later,  and  he  was 


220  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

kind  enough  to  show  me  all  that  was  then  completed  of 
the  score  of  his  new  opera.  He  seems  to  be  very  exacting 
with  his  librettists,  revising  and  changing  even  to  the  day  of 
the  performance,  and  his  dress  rehearsals  are  said  to  be  terrific, 
the  composer  finding  fault  with  everything,  exactly  as  Meyer- 
beer used  to  do  a  half-century  ago, — a  result  of  nervousness. 
Massenet  is  progressive  in  his  instrumentation  and  gains  many 
new  effects  thereby.  His  use  of  sarussophone  instead  of 
contra-bassoou  does  away  with  the  faulty  intonation  which  is 
often  the  bane  of  the  latter  instrument.  In  a  new  score  the 
master  intended  to  introduce  a  new  instrument  altogether — 
a  bass  flute.  "All  the  other  wood  wind  instruments  have 
their  basses,"  said  he,  "the  clarinet  has  the  bass  clarinet, 
the  oboe  has  the  bassoon;  then  why  not  try  to  extend  the 
register  of  the  flute  as  well?"  For  my  own  part,  I  think 
the  idea  is  feasible,  and  I  am  convinced  that  both  the 
ancient  Greeks  and  Egyptians  had  deep  flutes.  The  expe- 
riments were  being  made  by  a  prominent  instrument  manu- 
facturer, and  if  they  were  successful,  Massenet  was  to  use 
the  new  instrument  in  his  ballet  scenes. 

On  returning  to  my  hotel  I  found  that  two  fauteuils  for 
the  Grand  Opera  had  been  sent  to  me  (I  was  getting  the 
proverbial  honors  of  a  prophet  out  of  his  own  country)  and 
I  went  to  hear  the  American  prima  donna,  Miss  Emma 
Eames,  in  "Faust."  Naturally  I  need  not  dwell  upon  the 
opera,  and  the  opera  house  is  the  best  known  in  Europe, 
unrivalled  for  grandeur,  although  both  the  Vienna  and 
Buda-Pesth  opera  houses  may  vie  with  it  in  beauty.  The 
scenery  and  mounting  were  not  astoundingly  sumptuous,  as 
the  management  were  just  then  in  an  economical  frame  of 
mind.  In  the  matter  of  chorus  and  orchestra  the  Paris 
Grand  Opera  takes  the  lead.  The  house  was  crowded  with 
Americans,  who  had  come   to   hear   the   triumph  of  their 


JULES    MASSENET, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  221 

countrywoman.  This  triumph  was  a  very  legitimate  one; 
there  has  been  no  wire-pulling  or  artificial  enthusiasm. 
Miss  Eames  made  her  way  to  the  front  by  talent.  She  was 
first  engaged  at  the  Opera  Comique,  but  the  management 
repented  them  of  their  opening  the  door  to  an  unknown 
singer  and  gave  her  no  part  whatever,  and  when  she  begged 
to  annul  the  contract  they  very  promptly  let  her  go.  Since 
that  time  I  suppose  they  have  been  kicking  themselves, 
secretly  but  unanimously.  But  the  fair  Bostonian  came 
out  so  suddenly  and  with  so  little  flourish  of  trumpets  that 
even  I,  who  am  supposed  to  know  the  musicians  of  the  Hub, 
and  who  attend  about  seven  concerts  a  week  as  penance  for 
my  sins,  at  that  time  knew  nothing  of  her.  She  had  appeared 
in  Professor  Paine's  excellent  historical  lectures  before  a  vast 
audience  of  as  many  as  fifteen  people,  and  had  been  the  "  first 
spirit"  when  Mr.  Gericke  brought  out  "  Manfred,"  but  as 
I  was  not  addicted  to  spirits,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  this. 
Miss  Eames,  in  her  first  Parisian  successes  of  1889,  had  not 
the  broad  voice  she  has  since  developed,  but  her  singing 
was  already  powerful  and  majestic.  Her  very  first  song, 
"The  King  of  Thule,"  was  a  charming  performance, 
unaffected  and  tender,  while  the  "  Jewel  Song "  aroused 
the  whole  audience  to  enthusiasm,  but  the  grand  success 
was  in  the  trio  of  the  last  act,  where  she  gave  a  marvel- 
ous volume  of  tone.  The  only  fault  that  the  professional 
fault-finder  could  discern  was  a  degree  of  calmness  in 
some  of  the  more  vehement  scenes;  it  was  a  tranquil 
Marguerite,  rather  than  a  wretched  and  distracted  one,  but 
this  may  have  been  partially  the  fault  of  Faust  himself, 
whose  acting  was  remarkably  conventional,  and  whose  only 
mode  of  expressing  intensity  was  by  puffing  like  a  disor- 
dered steam  engine.  Mephistopheles  was  excellent,  even  if 
he  did  sing  his  serenade  to  the  gallery  instead  of  to  Martha. 
The  opera  was  given  without  any  cuts — except  one  alto 


222  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

solo — and  with  a  splendid  ballet  in  the  Brocken  scene, 
effective  enough  here,  although  I  must  say  that  these  ana- 
tomical displays  do  not  fit  to  England  or  America. 

I  was  glad  to  hear  most  flattering  comments  on  our  Bos- 
tonian  singer  from  the  French  portion  of  the  audience. 
"Marguerite  chanle  Men"  seemed  to  be  the  universal  verdict 
and  was  certainly  a  just  one.  The  next  day  I  called  on 
Miss  Eames,  and  found  a  most  unaffected  young  lady,  full 
of  life  and  of  fun,  utterly  unspoilt  by  her  triumph,  and 
remembering  all  her  Boston  friends  and  teachers.  Mr. 
Gericke  was  among  the  first  to  recognize  the  future  of  her 
voice,  she  told  me,  and  after  her  success  in  the  small  part 
in  "Manfred"  said  that  she  had  a  gold  mine  in  her  throat, 
but  when  she  asked  for  a  chance  to  debut  at  the  symphony 
concerts  he  said,  "Not  yet;  you  must  study  abroad  and 
must  appear  abroad,"  and  the  advice  was  wise.  Miss 
Eames  spoke  of  Professor  Paine  with  much  regard  and 
admiration.  "  You  don't  know  how  much  good  he 
has  done  me,"  said  she,  "  for  he  kept  me  at  work  on 
old,  old  music,  ancient  masses  and  all  that,  until  I  could 
not  help  acquiring  a  correct  taste."  (Some  time  after 
this  I  asked  Professor  Paine  what  music  he  had  given 
to  Miss  Eames  in  her  student  days.  "  Dufay,  Des 
Pres,  Di Lasso,  and  the  old  Flemish  school,"  he  replied, 
and  this  may  be  a  hint  to  some  of  those  who  desire  a 
solid  musical  foundation  in  vocal  work) .  "And  one  of  m}' 
other  teachers  I  shall  never  forget:  Miss  Annie  Payson  Call; 
she  gave  me  many  valuable  points  in  elocution  and  dramatic 
expression,  and  all  the  teachers  here  commended  what  she 
had  done  for  me."  Miss  Eames  told  me  many  an  anecdote 
of  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  a  hearing  in  Paris,  of  intrigue 
i and  of  machination,  and  how,  when  she  did  appear,  she  was 
a  "  dark  horse;"  unknown  to  all  of  the  critics,  and  as  they 
expected  little  or  nothing  they  were  the  more  surprised. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  223 

Mrs.  Eames,  who  looks  far  too  young  to  be  the  mother  of 
such  a  celebrity,  came  in  at  this  point  and  the  conversation 
became  personal.  One  public  point,  however,  was  touched 
upon — the  American  voices  abroad. 

"Many  of  them  are  sweet,  but  light,  so  much  so  that 
'une  voix  Americaine'  has  come  to  mean  a  fragile,  delicate 
thing,' *  said  Miss  Eames  (whose  voice  is  powerful  enough 
to  fill  the  vast  room  of  the  Grand  Opera) ,  and  then  she  went 
on  to  tell  of  how  bound  up  in  traditions  the  stage  at  the 
Grand  Opera  was,  and  what  difficulty  she  had  in  getting 
them  to  allow  her  to  use  her  own  ideas  in  certain  scenes. 
In  parting,  she  again  spoke  most  enthusiastically  of  her 
friends  and  teachers  in  Boston,  and  sent  them  her  kindest 
regards.  Since  that  time  Mrs.  Eames-Story  has  carried  her 
triumphs  into  America,  yet  this  story  of  her  beginnings  in 
France  may  not  be  de  trop. 

The  next  day,  at  the  exposition,  I  discovered  another 
musical  attraction,  in  an  out-of-the-way  theatre  wherein 
were  some  beautiful  gipsy s,  real  Gitanas  from  Granada, 
decked  in  the  gaudiest  of  colors. 

A  few  days  before  a  bull-fighter,  in  the  neighboring  show, 
tried  to  kidnap  one  of  them,  and  got  arrested  for  his  pains. 
I  should  have  done  the  same — if  I  were  a  bull-fighter.  The 
troupe  consisted  of  some  dozen  performers,  three  men,  one 
very  young  girl,  and  the  rest  most  attractive  young  women. 
Their  music  has  that  sad,  wailing  character  (even  in  the 
midst  of  its  frenzy)  which  is  found  in  almost  all  the  tunes 
of  half-civilized  nations  and  tribes,  and,  although  built  upon 
our  scale ,  had  many  modulations  that  were  by  no  means  ac- 
cording to  Richter,  yet  very  effective.  It  was  not  as  many- 
sided  as  the  music  of  Hungary,  where  the  true  gipsy  music 
of  the  world  has  its  home.    The  singers  and  dancers  became 


224  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

wonderfully  excited  with  their  work,  and  their  passionate 
execution  of  tangos,  fandangos  and  jotas  was  weirdly  fasci- 
nating. They  sang  to  their  dances  in  a  wild  fashion,  and 
were  accompanied  by  three  very  large  guitar-like  instru- 
ments, the  bandurria,  the  true  national  instrument  of  Spain. 
They  flirted  with  the  audience  in  a  manner  that  indicated 
that  they  were  ready  for  further  kidnapping. 

In  the  Rue  de  Cairo,  after  the  dance,  I  saw  a  row  among 
the  fellaheen;  tremendous  chatter,  great  threats  and  no  par- 
ticular damage.  The  crowd  soon  dispersed,  presumably 
singing — "  He's  a  jolly  good  fellah."  Now  a  stroll  in  the 
oyster  pavilion ,  where  the  bivalves  are  exhibited  in  all  stages 
of  growth,  from  molluskian  infancy  to  full  maturity.  I  was 
invited  to  devour  some  adults,  which  I  did,  but  they  tasted 
as  if  they  had  died  of  old  age.  It  is  very  fitting  that  the 
champagne  gallery  should  be  next  door  to  the  oyster  section . 

The  next  evening  I  went  again  to  the  opera,  and  heard 
Shakespeare  in  a  French  dress.  The  French  must  be  under- 
going a  revival  in  this  direction .  This  time  it  began  with 
Henry  VIII.,  but  dressed  up  in  an  entirely  new  fashion  to 
suit  Armand  Sylvestre's  views  of  what  ought  to  have  hap- 
pened, and  didn't.  Anne  Boleyn  is  given  a  Spanish  lover, 
a  mysterious  letter  is  introduced,  which  Catherine  of  Arra- 
gon  magnanimously  burns,  and  the  latter  queen  dies  very 
suddenly  (to  slow  music)  in  the  presence  of  King  Henry  and 
the  fair  Anne .  The  music  is  not  to  the  taste  of  the  French . 
A  celebrated  French  editor  recently  said  to  me:  "It  is  hard 
work  to  listen  to  the  St.  Saens'  music."  In  fact  St.  Saens 
stands  to-day  in  France  just  as  Berlioz  did  a  half  century 
ago.  "Who  then  do  you  class  as  the  greatest  French  com- 
poser?" I  asked.  The  answer  was,  "Undoubtedly  Ambroise 
Thomas."  The  most  delightful  part  of  this  opera  is  the 
ballet — in  the  "Pare  de  Richmon,"  as  the  libretto  says. 
We  have  heard  parts  of  this  in  the  symphony  concerts,  and 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  225 

I  need  not  tell  how  prettily  St.  Saens  has  caught  up  the 
Scotch  lilt.  He  can  almost  rival  Bruch  and  Mendelssohn 
in  Scotch  fantasie;  but,  like  most  foreign  composers,  he  does 
not  seem  thoroughly  to  know  what  is  Scotch  and  what  is 
English,  and  after  all,  Richmond  Park  does  not  lie  in  Scot- 
land. The  end  of  the  opera  is  quite  tame,  a  veritable  anti- 
climax, and  the  managers  have  shortened  the  work  with 
merciless  hand.  It  could  not  have  been  "cut"  more  freely 
had  it  been  edited  by  an  Italian  brigand . 

Now  followed  Shakespeare  turned  into  a  ballet  by  Jules 
Barbier ,  with  music  by  Ambroise  Thomas — ' '  The  Tempest  1 ' ' 
Fancy  Miranda  pirouetting  in  short  skirts,  and  Ferdinand 
capering  all  over  the  stage!  Prospero  didn't  dance,  and 
they  kindly  left  him  out  of  the  libretto  altogether.  Ariel 
made  up  for  this  by  dancing  all  the  time,  and  so  did  Cali- 
ban. An  innovation  is  used  in  this  work  by  employing  an 
invisible  chorus  in  connection  with  some  of  the  dances. 
There  are  flying  angels  (who  look  as  if  they  had  much  rather 
be  walking),  gnomes,  bees,  and  other  choreographic  impos- 
sibilities. The  music  is  pretty  rather  than  deep,  and  there 
is  the  usual  tempest,  of  course,  with  lightning  on  the  pic- 
colo, and  a  final  clearing  up  on  the  flute;  there,  are  some 
melodious  cornet  solos,  a  brilliant  flute  solo  at  the  begin- 
ning  of  the  third  act,  an  oboe  solo,  and  a  very  sweet  and 
lulling  finale.  The  best  music  is  in  the  third  act,  but  none 
of  it  is  strikingly  original,  while  the  honored  play  is  made 
nonsense  of.  I  suppose  the  next  subject  will  be  "Macbeth" 
in  ballet  form.  How  pretty  it  would  be  to  have  Duncan 
killed  in  a  pas  seul,  and  then  to  have  Lady  Macbeth  and  her 
spouse  dance  a  remorseful  duet;  to  have  Banquo's  ghost 
come  in  with  a  polka  step,  and  Lady  Macbeth  balance  her- 
self on  one  leg  in  the  sleep-walking  scene.  How  original  it 
would  be  to  have  Hamlet  dance  his  soliloquy.  There  are 
new  possibilities  in  Shakespeare  yet,  and  the  French  are 
beginning  to  discover  them. 


226  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

There  is  a  marvelous  verse  sung  in  the  above  described 
ballet  which  runs: 

Dans  l'espace  diaphane 

Et  Bleu 

Plane 

Dieu. 

If  Jules  Barbier  wrote  this  he  ought  to  be  secured  to  write 
poems  for  some  patent  medicine.  A  Paris  wit,  evidently 
believing  in  this  new  variety  of  short  metre,  at  once  wrote 
the  following  charming  poem: 

Tempete, 
M'embete, 

Which  expresses  the  matter  in  a  nut-shell.  The  French 
composers  had  better  let  "the  divine  Williams, "  (as  they 
have  called  Shakespeare),  severely  alone. 

Through  the  kindness  of  Emile  Devaux,  I  was  invited 
the  next  day  to  a  grand  concert  of  the  chief  mixed  choruses 
of  France,  in  the  Trocadero.  Nearly  2000  performers  were 
present,  M.  Vianesi  leading  those  in  the  choruses  and  M. 
Paulus,  formerly  musical  director  of  the  famous  band  of 
the  Garde  Republicaine,  leading  the  military  band.  The 
Marseillaise  began  and  ended  the  programme,  and  was 
given  in  a  peculiar  manner;  first,  it  was  sung  by  men,  then 
a  verse  was  given  by  women,  then  followed  a  verse  sung  by 
school  children,  and  finally  the  entire  forces  united  in  the 
last  verse.  There  were  some  harmonies  given  in  the  ac- 
companiment which  were  new  to  me,  and  which  certainly 
are  not  used  in  America,  although  very  effective.  The 
French  rarely  rise  when  their  natk  nal  anthem  is  being 
played,  as  the  English  do,  but  the  majesty  of  the  last  verse 
caused  the  audience  spontaneously  to  spring  to  their  feet  as 
a  token  of  appreciation.  There  is  no  national  hymn  which 
bears  such  varied  style  of  execution  so  well  as  the  Mar- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  227 

seillaise;  it   is   effective  all   the   way   from  a  solo  to  the 
grandest  chorus. 

Speaking  of  national  anthems  leads  me  to  add  that  in 
France,  as  in  several  other  countries,  the  musicians  have 
decided  "Hail  Columbia"  to  be  the  real  national  hymn  of 
America.  I  heard  it  played  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  honor 
of  Mr.  Edison,  and  I  spoke  to  some  of  the  French  band- 
masters about  it  afterward.  They  told  me  that  they 
considered  it  the  most  dignified  of  our  national  tunes,  and 
that  is  true  enough,  for  "America"  is  borrowed  from 
England,  "Yankee  Doodle"  is  English,  and  a  trivial 
affair  to  boot,  while  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner"  was  a 
drinking  song  originally— also  English.  But  "Hail  Col- 
umbia," although  at  first  merely  intended  for  a  theatrical 
entertainment,  is  American,  both  in  the  words  and  in  the 
tune,  which  was  a  popular  march.  In  prowling  around 
the  London  antiquarian  resorts,  I  was  fortunately  able,  a 
while  ago,  to  find  original  editions  of  the  drinking  song 
which  became  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner."  It  is  entitled 
"To  Anacreon  in  Heaven,"  and  is  one  of  those  bombastic, 
inflated  and  metaphorical  songs  which  were  in  vogue  dur- 
ing the  last  century.  That  it  was  very  popular  in  London 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  Braham  made  it  one  of  his  re- 
pertory of  songs,  and  I  have  also  a  copy  (dated  1802)  in 
which  it  is  changed  into  a  Masonic  ode,  beginning  "To  old 
Hiram  in  Heaven,"  and  celebrating  Hiram  Abiff,  architect 
of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem .  A  Bacchanalian  ditty ,  a  Masonic 
ode,  a  national  anthem — these  were  the  successive  promo- 
tions of  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

I  was  very  glad  when  Edwin  L.  Weeks,  the  only  Ameri- 
can artist  who  took  a  salon  medal  that  year,  and  a  Boston 
boy,  volunteered  to  go  with  me  on  my  first  visit  to  the 
section  of  American  paintings  in  the  Exposition;  as  he  was 
on  the  hanging  committee  (this  is  not  similar  to  a  western 


228  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

vigilance  committee)  I  was  especially  fortunate  in  this. 
In  going  to  bis  house  near  the  large  gate  of  the  Exposition, 
(the  Trocadero) ,  I  had  another  encounter  with  the  extor- 
tionate Parisian  cabman.  Bland  was  he  and  smooth  of 
speech,  he  had  a  winning  smile,  and  when  he  suavely  told 
me  that  the  Avenue  de  "Wagram  was  far,  faraway,  and  that 
he  knew  I  was  a  gentleman  the  moment  I  burst  upon  his 
vision,  and  that  three  and  a  half  francs  was  almost  tempt- 
ing bankruptcy,  it  was  difficult  not  to  believe  him,  but  I 
had  been  there  often  before,  and  knew  that  the  distance  was 
short,  and  the  fare  one  and  a  half  francs.  The  charioteer 
stood  aghast  when  I  got  in  his  team  and  told  him  that  I 
would  engage  him  by  the  hour,  at  the  regular  price  (two 
francs)  and  would  show  him  the  way.  I  stopped  to  make 
a  purchase  in  the  Rue  de  Provence,  and  when  I  came  out 
of  the  store  the  smile  was  gone,  and  the  cabman  also.  If 
I  were  disposed  to  write  sensationally  I  should  head  this, 
' '  Mysterious  Disappearance  "  or  "  Gone  but  not  Forgotten , ' ' 
at  any  rate  there  was  no  reply  to  this  repartee,  and  in  a  cab 
with  an  honest  driver  who  was  satisfied  with  both  fare  and 
pourboire,  ("Do  all  these  drivers  have  poor  boys?"  an 
American  in  Paris  asked  me  recently)  I  found  my  friend 
and  plunged  into  the  whirl  of  the  crowd  at  the  Palais  des 
Beaux  Arts. 

The  American  exhibit  in  general  was  so  disgracefully 
poor  that  I  am  glad  to  state  that  our  exhibit  of  paintings 
was  excellent — probably  the  best  exhibition  of  American 
art  that  has  ever  been  made  anywhere.  The  cream  of  the 
last  ten  Salons  was  there,  and  the  average  was  higher  than 
the  Salon  itself.  As  regards  some  of  the  awards,  I  believe 
that  the  cream  aforesaid  will  turn  rather  sour.  Social  posi- 
tion does  not  count  for  as  much  in  art  in  France,  as  it  does 
with  us,  and  some  pet  painters  were  very  faintly  recognized. 
Unquestionably  some  mistakes   were  made;  judges  are  but 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  229 

human;  fur  example,  Kitson's  remarkable  statue  of  Mayor 
Doyle  of  Providence  received  only  a  third  class  medal, 
while  his  "Music  of  the  Sea,"  a  few  years  ago,  took  a  gold 
medal  at  the  Salon,  I  believe .  If  I  know  Mr.  Kitson  (and  I 
think  I  do)  the  air  around  Paris  must  have  been  rather 
sulphureous  when  he  arrived  from  America,  George  Fuller 
(we  all  loved  liim  in  the  Paint  and  Clay  Club)  is  not  under- 
stood in  Paris  at  all,  and  his  "Quadroon"  received  no  re- 
ward whatever,  while  the  French  artists  even  satirized  it, 
and  wondered  what  the  dusky  female  was  out  so  late  for . 

And  now  as  I  have  devoted  much  of  this  chapter  to  music 
and  art,  let  me  continue  in  the  same  vein,  and  write  up  the 
opera  that  I  heard  next  day.      I  went  to  the  Annamite 
Theatre,  and  I  still  live!     My  sense  of  hearing  has  been 
impaired,  and  my  musical  ideas  irretrievably  mixed  up  by 
"Vo-hau,"  which  is  the  name  of  the  opera  or  music- play 
that  I  attended.     It  is  noisier  than  the  Wagnerian  Marches, 
and  considerably  longer.     It  is  in  about  fifty-six  acts,  and 
as  each  act  is  an  hour  long,  and  they  make  you  pay  a  sepa- 
rate admission  each  time,  it  takes  a  Jay  Gould  and  a  Me- 
thuselah combined  to  see  it  all.     Each  act  begins  with  an 
overture,  which  would  be  comfortable  music  at  half-mile 
distance,  but  is  rather  vehement  when  taken  at  short  range. 
The  act  with  which  I  started  began  by  a  fierce-looking 
party  with  whiskers  and  streaks  of  whitewash  on  his  face 
coming  forward  and  emitting  the  most  furious  catcalls  and 
howls.     In  this  he  was  aided  and  abetted  by  two  pages,  who 
ought  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.     The  oboe  player  in  the 
orchestra,  and  the  man  who  clashed  the  dish  covers,  grew 
excited  and  reached  a  point  only  to  be  represented  in  music 
byffffffff!     But  they  could  not  drown  the  speaker 
or  singer.     "Wow,  Miaw!  !    Wow!     Wow!    Wow!!!"— 
(clash — bang)  roared  the  Annamite — or  d}^namite — Salvini. 
I  could  not  fully  indorse  such  revolutionary  sentiments  and 


230  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

was  pleased  to  see  an  army — of  four  men  with  flags — enter 
and  chase  him  vigorously  around  the  stage.  Joseph  Proctor 
as  the  "Jibbenainosay"  never  shouted  as  did  this  persecu- 
ted party  at  this  point;  it  fairly  made  my  throat  ache  to 
hear  him.  A  tall  man  with  a  deep-red  face  and  an  ex- 
tremely long  moustache  now  came  in  and  gave  a  soliloquy, 
full  of  the  noblest  sentiments  (according  to  the  programme), 
which  he  expressed  by  cries  of  terrific  intensity.  He  stood 
on  one  leg  frequently — probably  to  avoid  wearing  out  the 
other — and  each  point  he  made  was  emphasized  by  the  bass 
drummer  with  a  single  stroke  of  great  power  and  expres- 
sion. A  mandarin  now  entered,  and  all  began  walking 
around  the  stage,  varying  this  at  intervals  by  twirling  about 
on  one  leg.  Now  came  a  still  greater  mandarin  with  a  soup 
tureen  on  his  head,  who  also  stood  on  one  leg  to  show  his 
dignity.  The  characters  then  executed  a  sort  of  "ladies' 
grand  chain"  intermingled  with  shrieks.  The  original 
part}%  with  whiskers  and  whitewash  (who  I  afterwards 
ascertained  was  a  pirate)  rather  puzzled  me  by  going  off 
the  stage  and  coming  on  again  without  any  ostensible  reason, 
and  it  was  also  annoying  to  watch  the  movements  of  two  or 
three  parties  who  came  in  among  the  preceding  ones  and 
then  to  discover  that  they  were -merely  "supes"  who  were 
removing  a  chair  or  a  table.  At  last  one  of  the  party  was 
executed,  and  his  yelling  was  stopped.  Many  of  the  audi- 
ence had  gone  away  before  this  happy  consummation,  for  a 
little  of  Annamite  drama  goes  a  very  long  way.  The  music 
was  sufficient  to  turn  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in  any 
bosom  into  Limburger  cheese. 

I  am  thankful  that  my  lot  is  not  cast  in  Annam;  to  be  a 
musical  critic  there  would  demand  a  stronger  constitution 
than  I  possess.  Nevertheless,  I  must  say  that  the  play  was 
not  altogether  without  interest,  and  it  would  make  a  very 
suitable  work  to  produce  before  a  deaf  and  dumb  asylum, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  231 

or  the  text  might  be  slightly  altered  and  it  could  be  per- 
formed in  New  York  under  the  title  of  "A  Caucus  in  the 
Sixth  Ward .' '  I  left  the  city  in  a  dazed  and  helpless  con- 
dition, and  hereafter  the  most  furious  piano  recital  by  the 
most  energetic  pounder  will  have  no  terrors  for  me.  And 
soon  after  this  I  left  Paris  and  the  exposition. 

Farewell,  oh  fair  young  Russian ,  who  gave  me  my  Bortzsch 
(cabbage,  meat,  gravy  and  buttermilk)  daily,  and  smiled  at 
me  sweety  in  Russian  while  I  ate  it;  farewell,  oh  Viennese 
sausage  shop,  where  I  achieved  so  many  a  fit  of  indigestion; 
farewell,  thou  English  restaurant,  where  my  mother  tongue 
was  shattered,  and  where  I  was  made  to  pay  for  its  demoli- 
tion; farewell,  De  Vaux,  De  Rille,  Massenet  and  the  musi- 
cal friends  who  made  my  stay  so  pleasant.  But  I  need  not 
say  farewell  to  the  Annamite-dynamite  opera  troupe,  for  if 
they  remain  in  Paris,  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can  hear  them 
very  comfortably  in  Brussels  whither  I  am  going. 


232  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Brussels — a    female    in    a    smoking    car — Amsterdam — 

the  jewish  quarter  on  friday  night scheveningen 

a  stormy  passage    across   the  channel london 

quaritch's  book  store aristocratic  clubs  and  pov- 
erty-stricken   slums a  riot  in  trafalgar  square 

life   in   the    english    metropolis, 


After  the  events  described  in  the  last  chapter,  I  started 
for  Belgium,  and  soon  found  myself  in  Brussels.  I  take 
pleasure  in  anathematizing  with  bell,  book,  and  candle, 
the  conductor  who  put  seven  smokers  into  one  compartment 
of  the  train  on  the  road  there,  and  then  at  the  last  moment 
shoved  a  poor  lady,  for  whom  there  seemed  to  be  room  no- 
where else,  in  among  us,  to  give  us  the  refining  influences  of 
female  societ}r .  The  conductor  was  not  wholly  to  blame, 
however;  he  had  stood  guard  over  the  trumpeter  (who  had 
rejoined  me)  and  myself,  and  kept  us  in  seclusion  for  a  time, 
against  a  host  of  invaders.  At  last,  every  other  compart- 
ment being  full,  a  couple  of  Englishmen,  pipe  in  mouth, 
stormed  the  breach  and  carried  it.  Then  the  conductor, 
seeing  that  his  chance  of  gaining  the  nimble  shilling  had 
gone,  filled  our  compartment  entirely.  The  poor  young 
lady  coughed  once  or  twice,  and  I  reluctantly  put  out  my 
cigar.  The  Germans,  French,  English,  and  Belgians  gazed 
at  me  with  astonishment.     Was  it  not  a  smoking  compart- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  233 

ment?!  Should  they  waive  their  sacred  privileges  because  a 
woman  had  been  thrust  in?!!  They  all  continued  smoking, 
and  the  young  lady  got  out  at  Brussels  as  thoroughly  smoked 
up  as  any  sugar-cured  ham.  I  need  not  describe  Brussels. 
Tt  is  simply  a  little  Paris,  and  I  have  written  up  Paris  so 
thoroughly  that  I  am  not  going  to  imitate  history  and  repeat 
myself.  I  will  only  mention  that  in  a  certain  "English 
chops  house"  I  ventured  to  ask  for  some  Bass,  Alsopps, 
Barclay  &  Perkins,  or  anything  to  drown  the  memory  of 
the  dust  of  travel .  The  gentle  garcon  said  they  had  none 
of  these ,  but  I  could  have  ' '  pallal . ' '  Ever  on  the  lookout 
for  novelties  I  ordered  this  as  a  drink  of  the  country. 
Frailty  of  human  hopes  (or  hops)  again — it  was  Bass 's  ' '  pale 
ale , ' '  only  translated  into  the  Belgese  tongue .  In  the  fur- 
ther journey  to  Amsterdam  I  had  opportunity  afforded  to 
study  the  habits  of  the  French  hog  while  traveling.  Your 
American  railway  hog  is  an  infant  beside  him ;  he  comes  in 
and  brings  a  caravan  of  baggage  with  him,  he  distributes 
this  all  over  the  compartment,  and  then  sprawls  all  over  the 
remaining  seating  capacity;  he  is  fat,  he  smells  of  garlic,  he 
is  nervous  about  travel,  and  questions  you  to  death  about 
every  detail  of  the  road.  Never  mind;  one  is  certain  to 
have  revenge;  for,  once  we  get  on  the  Channel  he  is  sure 
to  be  deathly  seasick,  and  then  you  can  question  him  as  to 
whether  the  French  serve  their  pork  with  molasses  or  just 
swimming  in  gravy.  He  will  probabljr  not  reply  at  great 
length;  his  reply  will  be  rather  in  actions  than  in  words. 

Amsterdam  is  a  delight  from  beginning  to  end .  No  won- 
der Thackeray  wrote  so  enthusiastically  about  it.  During 
the  Spanish  wars  it  remained  on  the  side  of  the  cruel  Duke 
of  Alva,  and  did  not  suffer  as  Antwerp  and  other  cities  of 
the  Netherlands,  which,  has  preserved  to  it  almost  all  of  its 
old  buildings  and  palaces.  Every  street,  every  alleyway, 
is  a  study,  and  when  the  modern  bees  begin  to  swarm  about 


234  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

this  ancient  hive  the  sight  is  of  indescribable  interest.  The 
pavements  are  so  clean  that  the  people  walk  in  the  street 
rather  than  on  the  sidewalks,  and  at  night  the  city  is  replete 
with  life  and  activity. 

Amsterdam  shows  evidence  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  city 
of  refuge  in  an  age  of  persecution,  in  its  possession  of  a 
Jewish  population  amounting  to  70,000  souls,  and  the 
quarter  which  they  inhabit  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  the 
world.  I  could  not  have  seen  it  at  a  better  moment,  for  I 
came  there  a  few  minutes  before  sunset  on  Friday,  and  the 
various  pedlars  of  second-hand  wares  were  ' '  rushing"  things 
to  turn  in  just  one  more  penny  if  possible  before  their  Sab- 
bath began.  I  went  into  a  rather  cleanly  looking  barber's 
shop  to  utilize  the  few  moments  which  I  knew  must  change 
the  scene,  in  being  shaved.  The  poor  fellow  was  in  haste 
to  get  through  before  sundown  lest  he  break  the  Sabbath, 
and  the  only  quick  thing  I  had  in  Holland  was  that  shave. 
The  razor  was  dull  and  so  was  the  operator.  He  asked  me 
if  it  hurt,  and  I  told  him  it  did,  and  he  didn't  understand 
me,  and  pulled  harder,  and  finally  when  he  had  cleared  a 
few  patches  on  each  cheek,  he  said  he  must  close  now,  as  it 
was  Saturday ,  and  I  went  forth  only  three  cents  poorer ,  but 
much  wiser.  What  a  transformation!  The  strident  cries 
of  the  hucksters  had  ceased;  the  hundreds  of  handcarts  with 
pickled  cucumbers  of  enormous  size, and  kabbeljaw  (codfish) 
in  brine,  had  vanished,  and  in  their  place  was  an  endless 
procession  of  pious  Hebrews  on  their  way  to  the  synagogue. 
In  the  doorways  sat  some  earnest  ex-pedlars,  reading  their 
prayer-books.  All  had  made  some  change  in  their  appear- 
ance; the  women  had  some  bit  of  clean  white  apron  or 
frock,  which  changed  their  tout  ensemble  immensely.  The 
men  had  donned  costumes  in  some  instances  quite  worthy  of 
"Samuel  of  Posen."  The  scene  was  well  worthy  of  the  pen 
of   a    Zangwill.      But    here,   as   everywhere    in    Holland, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  235 

everything  seemed  to  go  with  deliberation  and  slowness. 
Even  at  the  end  of  about  an  hour,  when  the  procession  was 
returning  from  its  devotions ,  and  when  a  very  heavy  thun- 
der storm  interrupted  the  calmness  of  the  scene,  nobody 
seemed  to  rush;  perhaps  they  were  acquainted  with  the 
Dutch  style  of  weather,  and  felt  that  the^  could  outstrip  the 
rain  in  a  square  walking  match.  For  myself  I  did  not 
worry  much  even  when  the  flashes  grew  remarkably  vivid. 
I  knew  that  the  lightning  in  Holland  could  never  catch  up 
with  a  brisk  American . 

From  Amsterdam  a  little  side  trip  to  Scheveningen  was 
quite  feasible,  and  it  proved  well  worth  the  trouble,  for  this 
delightful  suburb  of  La  Hague  has  a  beach  as  beautiful  as 
any  in  all  America,  and  on  it  swarms  a  cosmopolitan  multi- 
tude well  worthy  of  study.  But  there  were  few  men  among 
the  summer  boarders  at  the  hotels ,  which  caused  a  trifle  of 
discontent  which  found  expression  once  or  twice  in  my  hear- 
ing. The  male  summer  boarder  was  as  scarce  as  the  dodo 
or  the  ornithorhyncus .  The  young  ladies  waited  like  Ma- 
riana in  the  Moated  Grange: — 

She  only  said,    "  The  day  is  dreary, 
He  cometh  not,"  she  said; 
She  sighed  "I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  never  shall  be  wed." 

In  this  place  I  heard  some  music  of  a  very  quaint  type;  it 
was  a  Gammelong  or  Javanese  orchestra,  which  had  come 
to  Holland  to  perform  at  a  festival  in  Amsterdam . 

The  instruments  were  drums,  bells,  a  flute  or  whistle,  and 
a  two-stringed  fiddle.  The  bells  resembled  inverted  basins 
set  in  frames,  which  held  twelve  each.  Although  I  found 
that  a  diatonic  scale  could  be  played  upon  them,  the  native 
contented  himself  with  three  notes,  thus: 


i^E 


i 


236  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

forming  the  tonic  chord,  and  never  changing  to  any  other. 
Naturally  this  became  a  very  monotonous  organ  point.  To 
this  music  there  danced  two  native  girls,  both  of  whom  were 
very  attractive  and  graceful.  The  dance  consisted  in  wav- 
ing scarfs  and  in  moving  the  arms  slowly  in  time  with  the 
melody . 

And  now  for  Ostend  and  England .  Matters  looked  rather 
doubtful  at  the  outset,  for  the  wind  was  blowing  in  a  very 
fitful  fashion,  and  an  English  sailor  told  me  that  it  would 
be  choppy  outside.  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  boat. 
Would  that  the  voyage  itself  might  also  sink  into  oblivion. 
Scarcely  were  we  beyond  the  pier  when  we  began  to  appre- 
ciate the  glories  of  a  channel  trip  in  a  gale.  The  little  craft 
was  wet  from  stem  to  stern;  my  hat  blew  off  into  the  sea, 
my  overcoat  was  wet  through,  and  I  soon  presented  a  pic- 
ture of  marine  disconsolacy  that  would  have  touched  the 
stoniest  heart.  I  sought  the  little  cabin,  but  as  numerous 
temporary  invalids,  in  a  violent  state  of  activity,  were 
spread  all  around,  a  few  moments'  reflection  convinced  me 
that  the  ocean  in  its  stormiest  moods  was  preferable  to  man 
in  a  state  of  seasickness,  and  I  left  the  writhing  company. 

I  had  secured  the  upper  berth  of  a  tiny  stateroom,  but 
there  was  a  suspicious-looking  tin  basin  attached  to  that 
upper  berth.  This  is  done  on  most  of  the  English  channel 
boats,  and  I  have  always  found  fault  with  the  custom.  Let 
the  gentleman  in  the  lower  berth  open  an  umbrella,  if  cir- 
cumstances seem  to  warrant  it,  but  do  not  unduly  excite 
the  gentleman  above  by  presenting  to  his  e}res  so  vivid  a 
suggestion.  It  is  an  excess  of  zeal,  which  reminds  one  of 
the  conscientious  darkey  who,  on  entering  service  at  a  hotel, 
and  finding  the  legend,  "  Gentlemen  must  spit  in  the  cus- 
pidores"  on  the  wall,  rigorously  enforced  it,  whether  the 
gentlemen  wanted  to  spit  or  not. 

On  deck  I  found  a  young  lady  enjoying  her  mal  de  mer 


SYBIL    SANDERSON 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  237 

in  solitude.  On  my  offering  to  escort  her  to  the  sheltered 
but  unsavory  cabin,  she  declined,  wittily  saying  that  sea- 
sickness was  the  one  case  where  misery  did  not  love  com- 
pany. My  own  troubles  were  soon  alleviated  by  a  sailor, 
who  for  a  consideration  (you  have  probably  heard  that 
sailors  have  a  frank  character;  this  man  had  a  two-franc 
disposition)  lent  me  his  oilskin  cape  and  sou'wester,  and  I 
was  arrayed  in  a  manner  that  would  have  satisfied  any  old 
salt. 

I  have  crossed  the  channel  by  all  the  different  routes, 
and  can  only  commend  the  Calais-Dover  one ,  and  that  only 
because  of  its  brevity,  for  it  takes  but  seventy  minutes  from 
shore  to  shore,  under  favorable  circumstances,  while  Park- 
stone-quay  to  Rotterdam,  Ostend  to  Dover,  Harwich  to 
Antwerp,  Dover  to  Flushing,  etc.,  etc.,  are  all  long  and 
uncomfortable  routes.  In  America  they  would  be  changed 
for  the  better  at  once,  for  the  travel  on  them  all  is  large 
and  constant. 

I  will  joke  no  more  about  seasickness;  I  just  skimmed 
along  the  verge  of  it  myself  in  that  awful  passage  from 
Ostend  to  Dover.  The  sensation  is  not  as  pleasant  as  they 
describe  it;  the  public  has  been  misled  in  this  matter.  But 
the  tempest  was  very  high,  and  our  little  boat  seemed  to 
try  to  polka-mazurka  all  the  way  across,  and  the  passengers 
all  left  the  craft  at  Dover  with  pleasure — that  is,  as  much 
pleasure  as  is  consistent  with  total  emptiness.  What  a 
painful  thing  it  is  to  land  at  2  a.  m.  on  a  rainy  night!  That 
is  what  I  did  at  Dover.  By  the  light  of  a  dimly  gleaming 
lantern  a  customs  official  gazed  into  my  shirts,  collars  and 
cuffs.  He  found  no  dynamite.  If  I  had  had  any  I  should 
have  been  tempted  to  kick  it  and  explode  it  during  the 
voyage.  An  hour's  waiting  in  a  desolate  coffee  room  fol- 
lowed, the  contrast  between  England  and  the  continent  as 
to  railway  refection  being  at  once  sharply  marked.     Lon- 


238  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

don  and  the  Cannon  street  Hotel  came  at  3:30  on  Sunday 
morning  and  I  flung  myself  into  the  arms  of  Morpheus. 

That  metropolis  on  a  Sunday  is  a  poor  man's  purgatory. 
The  churches  hold  services  half  the  day,  and  the  bar-rooms 
the  other  half.  Pray  or  drink  is  the  choice  held  out  to  the 
laborer,  and  unfortunately  he  generally  chooses  the  latter. 
Meanwhile  in  the  near  suburbs  there  is  a  perfect  saturnalia 
for  the  man  with  a  few  coins  in  his  pocket.  It  is  hard  that  the 
poor  laborer  may  not  have,  as  with  us,  the  full  right  of  an 
instructive  museum  or  reading-room  on  the  only  day  when 
he  can  enjoy  it.  His  life  is  about  as  varied  as  the  scenery 
on  the  underground  railway,  But  at  Kew  Gardens  or  at 
Hampton  Court,  Sunday  would  not  be  recognized  by  any 
outward  signs. 

There  are  tally-ho  coaches,  omnibuses,  drays,  dog -carts 
and  donkey  carts  all  along  the  road.  The  bar-rooms  there 
are  open  all  day  "for  travelers,"  which  keeps  them  within 
the  scope  of  the  British  laws,  which  do  not  deprive  even 
the  most  temporary  tourist  of  his  spiritual  comfort.  Spite 
of  these  accompaniments  Kew  Gardens  is  a  sight  worth 
seeing  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  is  probably  the  vastest 
botanical  collection  of  the  world .  But  many  of  the  visitors 
do  not  come  to  botanize.  I  saw,  for  example,  one  speci- 
men of  the  British  workman  at  Kew,  whose  wife  remon- 
strated against  further  irrigation  with  gin ,  give  her  a  friendly 
kick  as  signal  that  the  debate  was  closed .  He  was  a  good 
specimen  of  an  arithmetical  problem — a  sort  of  Kew  brute. 

But  at  least  the  laborer  who  remains  in  London,  has  some 
fine  promenades  left  him,  if  the  Sunday  afternoon  is  fine, 
for  then  one  can  go  to  Rotten  Row  in  Hyde  Park  with 
some  degree  of  delight.  The  English  aristocracy  have  their 
habits  very  much  like  lesser  human  beings.  On  week  days 
one  sees  them  in  their  carriages  or  on  horseback,  cantering 
along  the  park,  but  on  Sundays,  at  about  four  or  five  p.m.. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  239 

they  are  all  on  foot ,  and  one  can  jostle  against  an  earl  or  a 
duke  without  great  trouble,  and  I  have  felt  seriously  tempted 
to  tread  on  the  corns  of  some  great  nobleman  to  see  what 
species  of  rhetoric  he  would  use.  But  to  see  the  nobility 
and  gentry  sans  gene,  one  must  go  to  the  clubs,  of  which 
hereafter . 

Who  can  write  up  London?  I  have  visited  the  little  vil- 
lage by  the  Thames  time  and  again  and  each  visit  reveals  it 
in  a  new  light.  The  fact  is  that  London  is  not  a  city,  it  is 
a  nation;  more  than  this,  it  is  an  epitome  of  all  the  nations! 
In  such  a  gathering  of  races  no  American  need  fear  to  at- 
tract much  attention  because  he  is  a  foreigner,  but,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  Americans  (?)  who  wish  to  abjure  their 
country  and  become  chromos  of  Englishmen,I  will  state  that 
they  must  acquire  a  rising  inflection  at  the  end  of  each  sen- 
tence, before  they  can  deceive  anything  more  than  a  deaf 
and  dumb  asylum.  Your  true  Englishman  ends  every  sen- 
tence with  an  interrogation  point  of  alpine  ascent.  Perhaps 
the  student  could  best  begin  by  trying  to  say  "thank  you" 
after  the  manner  of  the  London  tradesman .  It  is  the  most 
unemotional  expression  of  gratitude  that  mortal  ever  in- 
vented. It  sounds  as  if  the  speaker  desired  to  add,  "but 
don't  let  it  occur  again!" 

I  once  met  an  American  in  London  who  was  going  about 
hugging  the  fond  delusion  that  by  a  long  drawl  and  plenty 
of  profanity  he  was  causing  the  cockneys  to  believe  him  a 
Londoner  to  the  manner  born .  Let  no  wise  American  ever 
make  the  attempt.  It  cannot  be  done.  In  a  simple  trade 
with  a  boot  maker  I  asked  for  "  gaiters  "  where  I  meant 
"  boots,"  "  Congress  "  where  "  Springoide"  was  intended, 
and  "  rubbers  "  where  the  Londonese  was  "  goloshes. " 

No!  we  must  remain  Americans;  we  were  born  so  and 
cannot  help  it  now. 

May  I  give  one  more  growl  at  an  American  habit?    Why 


240  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

does  almost  every  male  tourist  in  London  steer  at  once  for 
Leicester  Square,  the  Oxford  Music  Hall,  et  id  genus  omne. 
and  imagine  that  he  is  "  seeing  life?"  Half  of  the  scenes 
are  pathetic,  the  other  half  dull;  but  in  the  music  halls,  at 
least,  one  can  laugh  a  little  at  English  "  jingoism,"  which 
casts  American  "spread-eagleism"  entirely  in  the  shade. 
One  young  lady,  whose  economy  in  clothing  must  save  her 
a  great  deal  of  money,  since  she  used  as  little  cloth  as  pos- 
sible in  making  her  dresses,  sang  forth  in  strident  tones — 

England  in  danger?     1  proudly  answer — No!  ! 
Not  while  there's  a  Briton  left  in  England! 

I  can  imagine  that  lonely  Briton  defending  his  isle  against 
the  combined  forces  of  Russia,  Germany,  and  France.  He 
certainly  would  take  to  the  woods. 

I  always  spend  part  of  nry  time  in  London  in  the  old 
book  stores,  with  which  the  city  teems,  and  almost  alwa}'S 
find  something  worth  while  to  reward  me  for  my  search. 
The  most  marvelous  of  all  these  is  a  store  in  Piccadilly, 
around  which  I  fluttered  as  a  moth  around  a  candle.  This 
is  the  greatest  antique  book  store  in  the  world — Quaritch's. 
No  museum  could  be  as  attractive  to  the  book  collector.  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  its  owner,  who  showed  me  around 
the  vast  establishment  with  a  pardonable  pride,  for  he  had 
begun  life  in  London  almost  penniless  and  now  had  a  stock 
amounting  to  millions  in  value. 

For  example,  while  I  was  with  him  there  was  offered  for 
purchase  a  whole  autograph  manuscript  of  Torquato  Tasso, 
a  missal  of  the  twelfth  centuiy,  and  some  of  the  rarest  black 
letter  books,  and  this  seemed  to  be  regarded  as  a  slight  trans- 
action .  He  showed  me  into  a  room  where  the  choicest  ancient 
bits  were  gathered,  and  took  down  book  after  book,  each 
one  worth  from  $1,500  to  $2,500,  and  then,  being  called 
away,  left  me  for  fifteen  minutes  alone  with  the  treasures 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  241 

(like' Lothair  at  the  jeweler's),  knowing  that  all  journalists 
were  strictly  honest.  He  even  was  kind  enough  to  offer  to 
lend  me  a  musical  volume  valued  at  £500,  in  which  he  saw 
that  I  was  interested.  His  price  list  is  now  made  the  stand- 
ard for  the  entire  world.  His  own  knowledge  is  something 
stupendous  and  naturally  his  store  is  the  gathering  place  of 
the  literati  of  the  world.  I  met  there,  in  one  morning,  the 
editor  of  the  London  Times ,  a  celebrated  botanical  professor 
from  a  Nebraska  university,  and  one  of  the  most  noted 
Spanish  archaeologists,  and  it  wasn't  a  great  morning  for 
celebrities  either. 

Mr.  Quaritch  was  just  then  engaged  in  preparing  a  his- 
tory of  book  binding,  and  in  the  room  where  this  was  being 
prepared  I  found  Byzantine, Florentine,  Venetian,  old  French 
and  many  other  specimens  of  the  art.  This  branch  of  col- 
lecting has  as  yet  been  very  little  pursued  by  American  bib- 
liophiles. 

I  came  back  to  London  in  the  oyster  season,  with  the 
memory  of  the  French  oysters  still  upon  me.  Seeing  the 
sign  "American  Blue  Point  Oysters,"  I  thought  that  I  would 
tempt  fate  again.  A  rather  ominous  smell  did  not  dismay 
me;  I  swallowed  it  (the  oyster;  not  the  smell,  or  rather  both) . 
"It's  been  laid  in  England,  sir,"  said  the  host.  I  fear  me 
it  must  have  been  laid  in  a  sewer  with  a  copper  cent  as  a 
companion.  I  haven't  got  the  taste  of  copper  out  of  my 
mouth  yet. 

Instead  of  speaking  of  St.  Paul's,  Westminster  and  the 
Tower,  let  me  speak  of  the  rich  and  poor  of  the  metropolis. 
The  former  may  be  seen  at  the  clubs  or  at  some  very  expen- 
sive rendezvous,  like  the  "Ship  and  Turtle"  in  Leadenhall 
street.  At  this  inn  one  may  find  the  genuine  aldermanic 
green  turtle  soup,  and  a  lime  punch  that  would  make  Del- 
monico  green  with  envy.  Here  one  may  see  the  brokers 
and  bankers  from  Threadneedle  street,  Bishopsgate,  and  other 


242  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

haunts  of  the  bloated  bond  holders,  allowing  part  ot  their 
weath  to  get  into  circulation  again.  As  for  nryself ,  it  would 
be  a  toss  up  between  a  dyspeptic  death  and  bankruptcy,  to 
take  many  turtle  dinners. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  dark  side  of  London .  We  are  to 
go  with  a  detective,  for  there  are  one  or  two  places  where 
we  might  not  be  quite  safe  alone,  and  we  provide  ourselves 
with  small  coin  in  abundance  to  ' '  tip  ' '  where  such  bribery 
is  necessary,  and  let  me  add  in  parenthesis  that  it  is  always 
necessary  in  Europe.  Never  be  afraid  to  tip  any  one  because 
he  looks  majestic.  I  have  seen  porters  who  looked  more 
lofty  than  a  cardinal,  pocket  a  shilling  meekly.  If  I  looked 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales  I  fear  I  should  give  him  a  half  crown 
(more  than  he  has,  poor  fellow),  from  mere  force  of  habit. 
We  go  with  our  detective  to  the  East  End,  and  a  walk  from 
Aldgate  brings  us  to  St.  George 's-in-the-East. 

At  first  it  is  only  a  revised  and  improved  edition  of  Ame- 
rican slums.  Plenty  of  sailors,  plenty  of  drink,  and  a  coarse 
dissipation  that  is  unfortunately  common  enough  the  world 
over.  A  dance  was  in  progress,  and  the  proprietor  of  the 
place  asked  me  if  there  was  any  music  I  would  like  his  band 
to  play.  I  smothered  the  temptation  to  ask  for  a  Berlioz 
or  Wagner  selection ,  and  requested  ' ;  Two  lovely  black  eyes, ' ' 
which  was  accordingly  massacred ,  and  we  proceeded  further. 
There  was  a  silver  lining  to  the  black  cloud,  for  we  found 
that  charity  (or  rather  beneficence)  was  becoming  sensible 
in  London,  and  claan  lodging  houses  at  4d.  anight, and  ex- 
cellent sailors'  homes,  strewed  the  way. 

Our  detective  told  us  that  the  new  school  board  had  done 
wonders  in  civilizing  the  people  and  ameliorating  the  con- 
dition of  the  poor.  Yet  we  found  dark  enough  shadows  on 
the  picture,  for  turning  from  Ratcliffe  Highway,  along  Cable 
street,  we  entered  Angel  Gardens,  so  called,  I  suppose,  be- 
cause there  are  no  gardens  there,  and  it  seems  to  be  inhabited 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  243 

by  devils.  Here  we  found  an  opium  joint,  kept  by  a  wreck 
of  a  Chinaman  called  Ah  Si,  which  has  become  anglicized 
into  Dan  Johnson.  There  are  no  laws  against  opium  smok- 
ing in  England,  nor  are  any  necessary.  The  English  don't 
take  to  the  habit.  Dan  seemed  to  be  his  own  best  customer, 
and  in  a  den  which  may  have  been  the  original  of  Dickens' 
great  description  in  "Edwin  Drood,"  lay  on  a  squalid  couch 
smoking  pipe  after  pipe.  There  is  a  rumor  that  years  ago 
the  Prince  of  Wales  visited  the  place  and  smoked  a  pipe, 
and  Dan  still  keeps  the  instrument  he  used,  and  allowed  me 
to  smoke  an  opium  pill  through  it.  It  was  the  first  time  I 
had  tasted  the  drug,  but  the  terrible  surroundings  and  the 
weird  novelty  prevented  its  affecting  me,  and  but  slightly 
stupefied  I  went  on  to  the  more  criminal  quarters  at  Floren- 
tine street 

Here  there  were  scenes  at  the  memory  of  which  my  heart 
aches.  There  were  those  seeking  shelter  here  who  dreaded 
the  police  surveillance  of  the  cleaner  lodging  houses  of  Rat- 
cliffe  Highwa}r,  and  clustered  together  in  dismal  holes  in 
gregarious  but  undisturbed  misery.  There  were  children 
too,  in  those  terrible  lodging  houses  where  the  police 
seldom  came,  and  they  looked  at  us  with  the  air  of  fright- 
ened animals,  while  we  stood  there  as  if  we  belonged  to  a 
totally  different  race,  and  were  examining  a  curious  museum. 
Some  women  and  a  couple  of  children  lay  in  wretched  beds, 
forgetting  hunger  in  sleep .  There  were  vicious  faces  enough , 
but  the  prevalent  type  was  rather  suffering  than  vice.  Our 
advent  created  a  sensation ,  and  a  crowd  of  ragamuffins  of 
all  ages  accompanied  us  on  our  tour  until  a  friendly  ' '  bobby" 
espied  the  disturbance  and  with  a  "Move  along!"  dispersed 
the  gathering. 

And  so,  in  spite  of  all  the  philanthropists,  the  wolf  still 
exists  in  London,  and  one  day  I  saw  him  show  his  teeth 
and  growl  ominously.     A  socialist  meeting  had  been  called 


244  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES, 

in  Trafalgar  Square  and  had  been  forbidden  by  the  police. 
Four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  found  me  on  the  field  of  ac- 
tion, before  any  battle  had  commenced.  Crowds  were 
walking  to  and  fro,  for  the  constitutional  right  of  prome- 
nade seemed  to  be  rigidly  respected,  and  one  thousand  and 
forty  policemen  were  also  taking  the  air  in  the  square.  They 
were  not  in  line,  but  circulating  through  the  crowd,  save 
at  the  Nelson  Monument  which  was  surrounded  by  a  cor- 
don of  bluecoats  to  prevent  any  speaker  from  addressing 
the  multitude  from  the  pedestal.  Just  then  a  sound  of 
cheering  and  groaning  announced  that  a  meeting  was  organ- 
izing on  the  steps  of  St.  Martin's  church.  Calmly  and 
firmly  a  lieutenant  said  "Fall  in!"  and  a  body  of  100  of  the 
police  promenaders  were  in  line  and  marching  to  clear  the 
steps.  Evidently  the  police  had  been  warned  not  to  aggra- 
vate matters;  they  rarely  touched  any  one,  but  constantly 
repeated  "Pass  on,  please!  Move  along,  please!"  not  driv- 
ing the  public  from  the  square,  but  keeping  them  in  con- 
tinual motion  as  if  training  them  for  a  walking  match .  Even 
when  one  burly  fellow  pushed  with  tremendous  emphasis 
against  a  policeman,  that  gentleman  meekly  ground  out  one 
more  "  Pass  on,  please!"  I  asked  one  of  the  guardians  of 
the  monument  if  it  was  likely  to  continue  so  through  the 
afternoon;  he  replied  that  it  might  change  any  moment,  and 
even  while  he  was  answering  there  came  a  tremendous  cheer- 
ing as  one  of  the  socialist  leaders  drove  around  the  square 
on  the  roof  of  a  'bus,  orating  as  he  went.  Result:  A  few 
grew  more  resistant,  refused  to  "  pass  along,  please  "  and 
got  pummeled  by  the  police  for  their  pains. 

I  wish  that  our  police  were  as  slow  to  use  their  clubs  as 
the  London  "bobbies"  are.  Even  at  this  stage  of  the  pro- 
ceedings only  blows  with  the  fists  were  given.  Another 
change  in  the  kaleidoscope!  On  the  Strand  side  the  crowd 
suddenly  made  a  rush,   and   then,    presto!  out  came  the 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  245 

clubs ,  and  a  charge  was  made  into  the  surging  mass .  Four 
men  went  down  just  in  front  of  me  with  as  many  police  on 
top  of  them;  a  misguided  youth  of  about  nineteen  was 
collared  in  the  act  of  throwing  a  missile,  and  got  a  black 
eye  and  was  marched  off  in  custody.  Then  matters  began 
to  calm  down.  More  police  arrived,  the  chant  of  "Pass 
along  please!"  was  resumed  in  recitative*  secco,  and  the 
wolf  retired  to  his  lair,  growling  as  he  went.  Yet  the 
throng  did  not  impress  me  as  altogether  a  dangerous  one. 
"You  put  them  down  with  a  stronger  hand  in  America, " 
said  a  policeman  to  whom  I  had  slipped  a  cigar  as  a  reward 
for  his  not  clubbing  me  during  the  "rush"  in  the  Strand; 
and  so  we  do,  and  we  have  more  dangerous  elements  to 
contend  with — the  more  the  pity — and  totally  un-American 
ones  at  that. 

And  now  for  the  reverse  of  the  medal , — the  fashionable 
clubs.  London  is  far  in  advance  of  us  in  this  matter,  In 
going  from  Hyde  Park  corner  to  Charing  Cross  (about  ten 
minutes)  the  stranger  would  imagine  as  many  clubs  in  Lon- 
don as  there  are  bar-rooms  in  Edinburgh.  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  introduced  into  some  of  them  and  am  able 
to  speak  of  some  of  the  most  characteristic,  merely  premis- 
ing that  there  are  in  addition  all  kinds  of  humbler  clubs 
for  coachmen,  cooks,  footmen,  and  almost  every  other 
menial  condition. 

The  Whitehall  Club  is  for  civil  engineers  and  scientific 
men  of  all  sorts.  I  had  a  good  lunch  there  and  a  good  deal 
of  polytechnical  talk  thrown  in ,  which  would  scarcely  in- 
terest general  readers .  The  Savage  Club  is  of  a  totally  differ- 
ent order.  Here  meet,  on  a  footing  of  seeming  equality, 
the  litterateurs  and  artists,  and  professional  men  generally, 
and  take  their  ease  in  a  truly  Bohemian  manner. 

There  is  the  Wellington  (military),  the  Bachelors,  the 
junior  Bachelors — for  in  England  clubs  beget  offspring, 


246  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

which  afterward  take  the  overflow  from  the  senior  organi- 
zation; the  Athenian  (medical  chiefly),  Saville's  (literary), 
the  United  Service,  the  St.  James  (diplomatists'  club),  the 
naval  and  military,  the  Turf  (sporting) ,  the  Isthmian  (mem- 
bers of  great  public  schools,  such  as  Eton  or  Harrow), 
the  American,  which  is,  I  am  glad  to  say  one  of  the  most 
aristocratic  of  its  kind ,  containing  not  only  almost  all  the 
prominent  Americans  in  England  on  its  list,  but  many  very 
great  English  celebrities  as  well,  White 'sand  Boodle's  (both 
very  old  and  select  clubs) ,  the  Meistersingers  (musical  and 
gives  magnificent  concerts  with  its  members  through  the 
season) ,  the  Devonshire  (liberal) ,  the  Beaconsfield  (conser- 
vative), the  Thatched  house,  the  Cocoa  Tree,  the  Pall  Mall, 
the  Marlboro — most  exclusive  this,  although  a  small  club 
in  small  quarters,  and  the  stamping  ground  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  his  set, — the  Guards  (military) ,  the  United 
Universities  (Oxford  and  Cambridge) ,  as  well  as  two  or 
three  other  clubs  for  college  men,  the  Carlton,  the  junior 
Carlton,  and  dozens  of  others.  The  above  very  incom- 
plete list  will  show  that  it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  all,  even 
of  those  with  whose  interiors  I  became  acquainted. 

The  most  exclusive  of  them  all  is,  I  think,  the  Travelers' 
Club,  Originally  this  club  was  formed  of  persons  who  had 
traveled  over  1,500  miles  from  home,  and  in  the  old  days 
of  stage-coaches  this  meant  a  good  deal.  At  present  it  is 
merely  the  gathering  place  of  the  highest  aristocracy.  I 
could  mention  a  certain  prince  and  a  couple  of  dukes  who 
were  blackballed  there  a  few  years  ago,  and  there  are  names 
on  the  waiting  list  which  have  been  there  for  almost  a  gener- 
ation .  ' '  Few  die  and  none  resign ' '  in  these  very  select  clubs . 
The  expenses  are  not  nearly  as  heavy  in  a  swell  club  in 
London  as  in  New  York . 

The  junior  Carlton,  which  is  one  of  the  select  clubs, 
charges  but  £50  initiation  fee,  and  ten  guineas  a  year  dues. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  247 

The  Constitutional  (conservative) ,  which  is  larger  and  more 
omnivorous,  charges  £15  initiation  and  five  guineas  annual 
dues.  This  latter  club  has  some  thousands  of  members  all 
over  England,  and  like  most  of  the  great  clubs,  affords 
board  and  lodging  to  such  of  its  members  as  require  it. 
Its  quarters  are  the  most  perfect  I  have  ever  seen  in  club 
life.  A  noble  staircase  of  marble  in  the  centre  of  the  great 
building  is  as  impressive  as  the  escalier  of  the  Vienna  Opera 
House. 

The  library  is  vast  and  well  selected,  so  far  as  I  could 
judge;  the  reading  room  is  splendidly  equipped  and  the 
smoking  room  a  delicious  place  for  a  cosey  chat  or  lazy 
lounge.  The  dining  room  is  especially  large,  and  like  the 
others,  is  lighted  with  dozens  of  electric  lamps  fixed  close  to 
the  high-studded  ceiling,  giving  thus  a  soft  and  dispersed 
light.  The  cuisine  is  on  a  par  with  the  rest  of  the  equip- 
ment, and  so  are  the  wines.  But  I  could  not  accustom 
myself  to  the  large  billiard  room  where  my  host  initiated 
me  into  the  mysteries  of  English  billiards,  after  dinner.  In 
the  first  place,  the  tables  had  so  many  legs  that  they  gave 
the  impression  of  being  a  set  of  huge  centipedes. 

Each  had  enough  gas  lamps  to  form  a  torchlight  proces- 
sion. The  English  table  has  six  pockets,  and  every  time 
you  pocket  any  ball  you  count;  therefore  it  is  best  to  hit  hard 
and  trust  in  providence.  The  cues  are  of  the  fishpole 
variety,  and  there  is  one  about  fifteen  feet  long  to  use  when 
your  ball  lodges  in  some  remote  and  inaccessible  part  of  the 
vast  meadow  they  call  a  billiard  table.  The  balls  are  of  the 
size  of  marbles,  and  one  needs  a  telescope  to  make  a  long 
shot.  Besides  these  afflictions  there  is  a  marker  to  keep  the 
score  for  you,  and  he  invariably  keeps  it  wrong.  He  will 
suddenly  be  called  avvay,  and  on  returning,  failing  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  you  have  made  half  a  dozen  shots  during 
his  absence,  will  call  out  the  score  in  a  voice  thick  with 


248  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

emotion  and  beer — "Mmmmty-mm,  to  mmmmty-mm!" — 
which  causes  ine  to  think  that  he  is  a  relative  of  the  Amer- 
ican brakeman.  Nevertheless,  by  a  succession  of  "flukes" 
I  won  the  games  and  made  an  impression  as  an  expert 
player.  Many  of  the  shots  I  made  in  those  memorable 
games  will  lie  heavy  upon  my  conscience  for  j^ears. 

In  connection  with  the  English  clubs ,  I  may  also  speak  of 
London's  celebrated  taverns,  or  at  least  of  a  couple  of  the 
most  characteristic  of  them.  Quaintest  among  these  is  the 
"Olde  Cheshire  Chease,"  a  tavern  which  has  as  large  a 
number  of  noted  names  upon  its  scroll  as  many  a  celebrated 
abbey.  It  nestles  in  " Wine  Office  Court,"  just  off  Fleet 
street,  and  you  might  pass  it  by  a  dozen  times  without 
noticing  its  antique  attractions;  yet  here  Shakespeare  took 
his  refreshment  on  the  way  home  from  the  theatre,  and  in 
this  very  room  (for  it  was  rebuilt  after  the  great  London 
fire  of  1666)  sat  Dr.  Johnson  and  Boswell.  I  sat  in  his  seat 
but  was  not  moved  to  vociferating  "Sir!"  and  becoming 
abusive  and  arbitrary  as  the  old  dictionary  maker  was.  The 
modern  charms  of  the  "Cheshire  Cheese"  are  not  less  than 
the  old,  and  one  can  get  there  the  best  steaks  and  chops  in 
London,  excellent  beer,  and  as  distinguished  society  as  the 
place  boasted  of  old,  while  the  landlord — Mr.  Chas.  Moore 
— welcomes  Americans  with  much  heartiness,  and  still  re- 
members a  party  of  young  ladies  from  our  land  who  took 
possession  of  the  place  a  year  ago  and  proved  that  English 
appetites  could  exist  in  American  frames. 

But  the  Delmonico's  of  London  is,  as  above  said,  "The 
Ship  and  Turtle,"  in  Leadenhall  street,  where  one  can  eat 
up  a  fortune  as  easily  as  Lucullus  did.  Turtle  soup  is  the 
specialty,  five  shillings  per  small  plate  the  price,  and  alder- 
manic  gout  the  consequence.  Nowhere  else  in  the  world  is 
such  soup  obtainable.  The  turtle  tanks  are  a  sight  in 
themselves,  some  hundreds  of  these  reptiles  being  kept  alive 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  249 

for  epicurean  purposes.  We  shudder  at  the  ancient  Roman 
refinements  of  epicurean  cruelty,  and  read  with  wonder  of 
pigs  whipped  to  death  to  give  their  flesh  a  better  flavor,  yet 
these  turtles  are  as  scientifically  treated  as  could  be  done  by 
any  ancient  chef.  They  are  kept  four  days  out  of  water, 
then  four  days  in  the  tank,  and  so  on  alternately  until  some 
fine  day  they  are  hung  up,  head  downwards,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  decapitated.  If  you  dare  defy  the  doctor, 
and  snap  your  fingers  at  apoplexy,  do  as  I  did,  and  wind 
up  with  a  lime  punch. 

It  is  rather  late  in  the  day  to  declaim  against  "tips"  in 
England,  but  I  was  astonished  on  emerging  to  the  street, 
(N.  B.  This  had  no  connection  with  the  lime  punch!)  to 
have  a  policeman  touch  his  hat  and  ask:  "Looking  for  a 
cab,  sir?  I'll  get  you  one  sir,"  and  the  representative  of 
the  municipal  force  of  London  trotted  off  and  came  back 
with  a  hansom,  for  which  he  received  a  handsome  gratuity. 
Fancy  tipping  the  police! 


250  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A    DISCURSIVE    TALK MUSICAL    EUROPE A    DESCRIPTION    OF 

THE  MUSICAL  ADVANTAGES  AND  DISADVANTAGES  OF  DIF- 
FERENT EUROPEAN  CAPITALS WHERE  THE  AMERICAN  STU- 
DENT OUGHT  TO  GO— IMPORTANT  MUSICAL  LETTERS  BY 
ROBERT    FRANZ. 

I  am  often  asked  by  young  musical  students,  "Where 
ought  I  to  go  to  study  in  Europe?' '  The  question  is  so 
vast  and  demands  such  detail  in  its  answer  that  I  have  de- 
termined to  leave,  for  a  while,  the  paths  of  travel,  and  speak 
of  musical  Europe  in  its  relations  to  the  student.  America 
at  present  offers  as  thorough  a  curriculum,  to  the  musician, 
as  Europe.  There  are,  in  the  conservatories  of  our  own 
land  at  present,  many  musicians  who  have  been  members 
of  the  faculties  of  foreign  conservatories,  and  it  is  not  to  be 
imagined  that  their  teaching  is  inferior  in  America,  to  what 
it  was  in  trans-atlantic  countries.  The  fault  is  to  be  sought 
elsewhere;  many  a  musical  student,  when  studying  in  his 
native  land,  takes  matters  altogether  too  easily;  the  same 
party,  when  placed  in  a  foreign  land,  separated  from  friends 
and  kindred,  studies  as  if  life  itself  depended  on  his  efforts. 
It  is  not  an  extravagant  statement  to  say,  that  if  musical 
students  would  give  the  same  ardor  to  their  work  in  Amer- 
ica that  they  do  in  Europe,  they  would  achieve  the  same 
results . 

"  But,"  says  the  apologetic  student,  "  there  is  a  musical 


ROBERT    FRANZ 

(IN    1870.) 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  251 

atmosphere  in  Europe,  which  is  not  attainable  in  America!" 
This  idea  is  so  firmly  rooted  in  the  American  mind,  that  it 
seems  almost  impossible  to  tear  it  out;  yet  I  can  truthfully 
say  that  I  have  heard  music  in  Munich  that  would  have 
been  hissed  in  New  York,  and  some  operas  given  in  La 
Scala  do  not  begin  to  compare  with  the  same  works  as  pre- 
sented in  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  in  New  York. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  Europe,  as  a  whole,  stands 
higher  than  America  in  art,  but  the  slavish  acceptance  of 
everything  European,  as  excellent,  or  even  as  better  than 
our  own ,  is  nonsensical .  There  are  very  few  orchestras  in 
the  world,  for  example,  which  can  equal  the  playing  cf  the 
Boston  Symphony  Orchestra,  and  Thomas'  Orchestra  in  its 
best  days  would  have  excelled  the  performance  of  many  a 
European  band.  As  regards  opera,  the  performances  in 
the  large  cities  of  the  United  States  do  not  suffer  by  com- 
parison with  the  representations  given  in  Frankfort,  or 
London,  or  many  of  the  other  great  European  capitals.  We 
have  made  gigantic  strides  in  music;  we  can  say  this  with- 
out being  at  all  vain-glorious.  It  is  very  much  the  same 
thing  as  it  was  with  literature;  a  half  century  ago  the  Eng- 
lish contemptuously  inquired,  "Who  reads  an  American 
book?"  but  now  there  are  some  of  our  authors  quite  as  pop- 
ular on  the  other  side  of  the  great  dampness ,  as  at  home .  I 
must  confess,  however,  that  many  of  the  European  musical 
celebrities  with  whom  I  conversed,  knew  very  little  about 
the  work  done  among  us,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  when  they 
did  see  the  compositions  of  our  best  musicians,  they  gave 
unstinted  praise,  and  exhibited  their  astonishment  in  the 
most  lavish  manner. 

Europe  must  stand  to  America,  in  the  domain  of  music, 
exactly  as  foreign  countries  do  to  France  in  the  matter  of 
its  advanced  musical  students.  When,  for  example,  a 
student  has  won  the  great  prize  for  composition,  the  Prix 


252  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

de  Rome,  at  the  Paris  Conservatoire,  he  is  sent  into  other 
countries  for  a  while,  to  study  other  schools,  in  order  that 
his  work  may  not  be  one-sided.  In  exactly  the  same  man- 
ner, after  the  student  has  attained  the  best  that  our  country 
can  afford  him,  he  should  go  to  other  countries  for  the  fin- 
ishing touches,  that  he  may  not  become  wedded  exclusively 
to  the  style  of  his  teachers.  When  a  student,  male  or  fe- 
male, has  become  master  of  his  art  in  his  own  country,  then 
let  him  seek  Europe  with  a  firm  conviction  that  it  will 
broaden  his  views  and  help  his  work. 

There  are  many  teachers  who  can  only  spare  the  summer 
months  for  European  pilgrimages;  to  these  there  are  only 
two  musical  Meccas  open .  London  is  musically  active  until 
about  the  middle  of  July,  and  Bayreuth ,  when  the  season  is 
on,  begins  its  representations  about  a  week  later,  and  con- 
tinues until  the  middle  of  August. 

London  is  a  musical  city,  in  spite  of  all  that  Rubinstein 
has  said  about  the  unmusical  character  of  the  English.  The 
opera  there  is  quite  as  good,  although  not  as  cheap,  as  that 
of  Milan,  or  of  any  other  Italian  city.  But  the  musician 
who  seeks  the  peculiar  benefits  of  each  country  abroad  will 
endeavor  to  attend  one  of  the  great  choir  festivals  in  Eng- 
land. These  do  not  take  place  in  London,  but  in  Birming- 
ham, Manchester,  (a  very  musical  city),  Hereford,  etc.  In 
such  a  festival  there  will  always  be  one  or  two  of  Handel's 
oratorios  given,  for  the  Englishman  would  consider  the 
omission  of  these  as  the  giving  of  "Hamlet"  with  the  part 
of  the  royal  Dane  left  out,  and  there  is  no  country  on  the 
globe  in  which  the  musician  can  so  well  study  the  art  of 
oratorio  singing  as  in  England.  Should  you  go  to  one  of 
these  festivals,  oh  musical  reader,  notice  how  well  your 
native  tongue  is  sung  there.  America  is  the  land  where  the 
English  language  is  worst  mangled  in  vocal  work,  and  in 
England  it  is  treated  the  best.     I  have  heard  a  singer,  (yes, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  253 

and  more  than  one) ,  sing  an  invocation  to  the  God  of  Bat- 
tles, and  in  the  course  of  the  work  the  warlike  Deity  became 
44 the  god  of  bottles,"  yet  not  a  soul  of  that  American 
audience  felt  that  the  change  was  ludicrous.  But  in  Great 
Britain  they  have  a  wholesome  respect  for  the  poetry  they 
are  singing,  and  spite  of  the  difficulties  with  which  our 
language  is  strewn,  you  can  lean  back  in  your  seat,  without 
baying  a  libretto,  and  can  follow  every  word  which  the 
English  singer  is  warbling.  If,  therefore,  you  desire  to 
study  clear  pronunciation,  or  true  Handelian  phrasing,  (for 
they  do  not  cut  the  phrases  of  the  grand  old  master  into 
mincemeat  there) ,  or  the  correction  of  a  vicious  tremolo,  go 
no  further,  but  settle  down  in  London  to  conscientious  work, 
which  will  be  lightened  by  the  fact  that  you  need  not  study 
anew  language  to  take  your  lessons  in,  and  your  teacher 
will  be  scrupulously  honest,  and  will  probably  not  attempt 
to  get  up  a  flirtation  with  you,  if  you  are  of  the  feminine 
gender.  Besides  this,  you  will  have  the  advantage  of  hear- 
ing good  music  constantly.  London  draws  to  itself  the 
cream  of  the  whole  musical  world,  and  at  the  Crystal  Palace 
concerts,  and  at  Albert  Hall,  not  to  speak  of  the  dozens  of 
other  entertainments,  you  will  hear  about  as  good  music  as 
you  could  in  Germany  or  Italy .  Only  in  one  field  London 
is  rather  poor;  it  has  little  really  great  orchestral  music. 
Richter  comes  there  almost  every  season ,  and  is  an  oasis  in 
the  desert,  but  it  may  be  doubted  if  even  his  concerts,  with 
a  picked-up  band,  can  compare  with  the  music  we  have,  in 
this  field,  in  America. 

What  teachers?  Ah,  my  dear  inquirer,  I  dare  not  whis- 
per that,  lest  my  enemies,  (every  man  who  writes  a  book 
has  enemies,  according  to  the  Scriptures),  should  say  that  I 
am  writing  a  paid  circular  for  certain  musicians,  and  cast  me 
out  into  the  ranks  of  ''puffers;"  but  there  are  some  world* 
famous  professors  to  be  found  in  London  always. 


254  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Paris!     Yes,  Paris  is  rich  where  London  is  poor,  for  in 
Paris   you  can   hear  as  good   an  orchestra  as  exists    in  the 
world, — the   band    of  the   Conservatoire.      In   the   domain 
of  opera  Paris  is  good,  but  not  very  great.     The  manage- 
ment of  the  Grand  Opera  generally  pays  more  attention  to 
mise-en-scene  than  to  the  engagement  of  great  singers.     Yet 
at  this  opera  house   you  will  hear  an  excellently  balanced 
orchestra  and  a  chorus  which  will  obliterate  the  memory  of 
the  warbling  antiquities  you  have  heard.     The  house  itself 
is  worth  seeing,  for  it  is  the  grandest  legacy  that  Napoleon 
III  has  left  to  Paris.     It  is  at  the  end  of  a  noble  avenue, 
and    if  you   should   stray  out  on  the  balcony  during  the 
entr'actes,  as  you  undoubtedly  would,  you  would  see  the 
finest  part  of  brilliant  Paris  stretching   out   at  your   feet. 
The  escalier  is  a  marvel  of  beauty,  and  the  foyer  is  as  bright 
as  lamps  and  mirrors  can  make  it.     But  you  must  go  in  a 
dress  suit  or  you  will  be  forbidden  to  enter  even  the  choice 
seats  you  have  paid  for .     And  if  you  should  sit  in  the  par- 
quette  you  will  be  obliged  to  separate  from  your  wife  or 
sister,  for  the  parquetteis  like  the  Walhalla  of  the  Vikings — 
no  females  are  allowed  within  its  hallowed  precincts.     Once 
I  met  the  full  dress  rule  and  half  overcame  it.     I  had  come 
to   Paris   from  Nancy  (let  every  reader  understand  that 
Nancy  is  a  town  and  not  a  female) ,  and   had   no   time   to 
change  into  the  solemn  habiliments  which  constitute  "full 
dress"  in  our  civilized  world,  (and  which  we  share  with 
waiters,  butlers,  etc.),  and  presented  myself  in  a  suit  of 
tweed  at  the  entrance,  with  my  fauteuil  ticket.     The  look 
of  horror  and  disdain  which  overspread  the  face  of  the  guar- 
dian of  the  portal  was  in  itself  sufficient  rebuke,  but  when  I 
showed  him  a  personal  note  from  the  prima  donna  of  the 
evening,  he  allowed  me  to  pass,  but  with  a  supplicatory 
remark  that  he  supposed  that  I  would  not  take  my  seat 
"like  that  I"     Heedless  of  his  feelings,  I  did  take  the  seat  I 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  255 

had  paid  for,  and  enjoyed  the  performance  almost  as  well  as 
if  I  had  been  clothed  in  a  swallowtail;  but  when,  at  the  end 
of  the  second  act,  I  presented  a  pass  to  the  back  of  the  stage 
to  another  official,  he  refused  to  corrupt  the  morals  of  the 
Parisian  stage  by  allowing  me  to  enter  the  green-room  in  a 
traveling  suit.  That  shook  my  confidence  somewhat,  and 
when  I  found  that  even  the  programme  seller,  and  the  pew- 
opener,  (or  at  least  the  ancient  dame  who  was  to  conduct 
me  to  my  seat — for  a  consideration) ,  and  all  the  other  un- 
derlings, attempted  to  show  me  their  outraged  feelings,  I 
gave  up  the  unequal  contest,  and  ever  after  basked  in  a 
dress-coat  and  their  smiles 

France  is  tied  up  in  tradition  as  regards  its  theatrical 
usages,  and  the  most  annoying  of  all  is  the  ticket  specula- 
tion, which  is  not  only  not  prohibited ,  but  is  countenanced, 
by  every  theatre  and  opera  house.  At  some  theatres  it  is 
impossible  to  buy  a  seat  a  day  or  two  ahead  of  the  perform- 
ance, save  through  speculators,  and  although  you  can 
nominally  purchase  a  seat  at  the  opera  a  few  days  ahead ,  yet 
to  do  this  you  must  mingle  with  a  rough  and  ill-smelling 
crowd,  must  stand  an  hour  or  so  in  line,  and  must  take  the 
chance  of  finding  all  the  good  seats  gone  when  you  come  to 
the  fat  lady  (she  is  always  fat),  who  sells  the  tickets.  If, 
however,  you  give  it  up  in  disgust,  and  turn  away,  you 
will  be  accosted  by  some  five  or  ten  individuals,  each  of 
whom  will  promise  you  a  glorious  seat  for  an  equally  glori- 
ous price,  while  just  under  the  eaves  of  the  grand  opera 
house  are  three  offices,  where  they  are  ready  to  do  the  same 
kind  of  a  Good  Samaritan  act.  If  you  yield  to  the  solicita- 
tions of  one  of  the  street  peddlers,  he  will  walk  you  around  to 
some  dingy  cafe,  where  you  can  see  a  plan  of  the  theatre, 
but  there  is  just  a  chance  that  you  will  find  some  pillar  or 
other  obstruction  when  you  attend  the  performance,  which 
was  forgotten  in  the  plan  you  examined.     Of  the  common 


2o6  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

sense  mode  of  selling  tickets  to  theatrical  or  musical  per- 
formances in  America,  the  Parisian  knows  nothing,  and  as 
regards  serving  the  public,  he  seems  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  the  celebrated,  but  profane,  remark  attributed  to  our 
own  Mr.  Vanderbilt. 

There  is  one  point  in  which  the  French  have  an  admirable 
system;  it  is  in  the  classification  of  their  operas,  and  the  ap- 
portioning of  them  to  the  opera  company,  which  is  especi- 
ally trained  to  produce  them.  The  government  grants  a 
subvention  to  more  than  one  theatre  and  opera  house,  and 
aims  at  giving  the  best  possible  performance.  As  a  conse- 
quence one  always  finds  a  great,  and  generally  tragic,  mas- 
terpiece, at  the  grand  opera,  and  a  bright,  or  at  least 
melodious  work ,  at  the  Opera  Comique .  It  is  like  the  gentle- 
man in  the  western  restaurant,  who  desired  the  waiter  to 
bring  him  the  hairs  and  the  butter  on  two  separate  plates. 
The  mere  fact  of  an  opera  having  a  tragic  termination  would 
make  no  difference;  if  it  has  any  comic  touches  it  is  opera 
comique.  Thus  "Carmen"  falls  in  the  latter  classification 
in  spite  of  its  tragic  libretto. 

I  have  heard  some  very  fine  bass-singers  at  the  Grand 
Opera  in  Paris,  but  German  Opera,  on  the  whole,  seems  to 
possess  the  best  of  the  deep  toned  soloists. 

Is  there  any  reason  why  the  possession  of  a  bass  voice 
should  indicate  depravity  and  general  wickedness?  At  the 
first  glance  the  reader  might  readily  answer — "No!" — but 
if  he  will  look  over  all  the  various  opera  plots  and  librettos 
he  will  see  that  bass  singers  have  been  metamorphosed  into 
villains,  by  musical  authors,  with  surprising  unanimity,  so 
much  so  indeed,  that  the  phrase,  "a  villain  of  the  deepest 
dye"  might  readily  be  changed  into  a  "villain  of  the  deep- 
est voice." 

Verdi  has  set  the  fashion  for  the  modern  school  in  his 
Count  di  Luna,  (a  title  which  might  be  freely  translated 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  257 

into  the  Count  of  Lunatics)  who  is  as  bad  as  bad  can  be, 
and  the  more  wicked  he  becomes  the  deeper  he  sings.  He 
has  a  strange  predilection  for  roast  gypsy ,  and  12-8  rhythms. 
He  is  not  successful  in  love, — very  few  basses  are, — but  he 
is  in  accord  with  all  his  tribe  of  deep  vocalists  in  being  rich 
and  powerful.  The  basso  (in  opera)  is  so  generally  obnox- 
ious that  he  almost  always  drives  the  soprano  to  insanity  or 
death,  but  this  has  one  mitigating  feature,  for  the  crazier 
she  gets  the  better  she  sings,  and  her  death  is  always  pre- 
ceded by  a  grand  aria  full  of  trills  and  chromatic  runs . 

Mozart  seems  to  have  felt  some  pity  for  the  non-success 
in  amatory  matters,  of  the  vocalist  of  low  compass,  and  he 
allowed  his  baritone  to  succeed  in  a  couple  of  thousand  love 
affairs,  but  the  depraved  character  of  the  low-pitched  singer 
was  not  elevated  by  him ,  and  Don  Juan  is  finally  escorted 
to  a  warm  realm,  which,  according  to  the  operatic  librettists, 
must  be  crowded  with  basses  and  baritones. 

Meanwhile  the  tenor  pursues  the  even  tenor  of  his  way, 
in  paths  of  purity  and  propriety.  He  is  always  beloved  by 
the  soprano,  he  is  also  always  hated  by  the  basso.  In  the 
realms  of  the  Italian  opera  there  are  no  villains  who  can 
reach  high  C.  The  higher  the  voice  the  higher  the 
character. 

It  may  have  escaped  the  notice  of  many,  but  Wagner  has 
broken  the  fetters  which  forever  bound  the  tenor  to  virtue 
and  the  basso  to  vice;  he  has  also  given  the  basso  a  chance 
in  his  love  affairs.  The  Flying  Dutchman  is  a  bass-baritone 
who  wins  his  lady,  to  the  exclusion  of  a  gentleman  with  a 
voice  of  higher  range  who  has  previously  courted  her,  and 
this  is  one  of  the  very  rare  instances  in  which  the  bass  cut 
out  the  tenor.  We  know  that  occasionally  a  very  high 
minded  basso  profundo  appears  upon  the  stage ,  but  you  will 
notice  that  he  is  always  a  priest,  and  therefore  condemned 
to  celibacy. 


258  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

In  real  life  we  have  sometimes  met  people  with  deep 
voices  who  were  not  bloodthirsty ,  and  who  were  not  priests, 
and  some  of  them  have  even  been  looked  on  favorably  by 
the  fair  sex.  Cannot  we  have  something  of  the  same  sort 
on  the  operatic  stage?  Give  us  a  hero  or  two  with  a  deep 
voice.  Let  us  plead  with  the  librettists  of  this  end  of  the 
century  to  give  the  basses  a  chance! 

While  I  am  on  musical  subjects  I  feel  impelled  to  say  a  few 
words  about  the  practical  character  of  the  French  laws  re- 
lating to  art;  they  might  well  be  copied  by  our  own  country. 
In  the  first  place,  there  are  the  subventions  mentioned  above. 
These  are  given  to  opera  and  theatre.  It  may  be  stated  em- 
phatically ,  that  opera,  properly  given,  can  never  pay  its 
own  expenses,  and  never  has  since  the  popes,  the  de 
Medicis,  and  Henry  IV.,  paid  the  expenses  of  the  works  of 
Peri,  Caccini,  and  Monte verde,  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  at  the  beginning  of  this  school  of  compo- 
sition. If  we  are  ever  to  have  grand  opera  in  this  country, 
outside  of  New  York,  where  the  merchant  princes  foot  the 
bills  in  return  for  the  privilege  of  chattering  through  the 
performance ,  the  government  must  assist .  Again ,  in  France 
there  is  a  uniform  and  sensible  musical  pitch  (435  vibrations 
for  one-lined  A)  established  by  law,  while  in  America  the 
vocalist  is  at  the  mercy  of  every  piano  manufacturer  who 
seeks  brilliancy  at  the  expense  of  mellowness,  and  of  the 
singer's  voice.  But  best  of  all,  in  France  there  is  a  degree 
of  protection  for  the  composer,  for  he  obtains  a  legal  roy- 
alty every  time  his  opera  is  produced.  This  prevents  a 
popular  opera  composer  from  dying  a  pauper  because  of 
the  grasping  character  of  publishers  or  managers,  a  trait 
which  my  readers  can  find  fully  enough  exemplified  in  the 
biographies  of  Schubert  or  Mozart.  Had  Mozart,  or  Schu- 
bert, or  Lortzing,  had  the  benefit  of  the  law  of  the  tantieme, 
they  would  not  have  died  so  wretchedly.     May  the  United 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  259 

States,  some  day  in  the  near  future,  take  example  of  France 
and  protect  our  native  composer  from  theatrical  sharks,  and 
from  himself. 

My  barber  in  Paris,  not  the  one  whose  lleecings  I  have 
described,  was  one  of  the  host  of  ticket  sellers  spoken 
of  above.  Many  a  ticket  to  the  Theatre  Francaise  have 
I  obtained  through  his  friendly  agency  (paid  for,  of 
course)  but,  as  it  happened,  I  never  bought  any  opera 
tickets  through  him.  This  led  one  day  to  a  very  humiliat- 
ing result.  We  were  conversing  about  the  exposition,  and 
he  found  fault  with  the  sparsity  of  fireworks  and  the  pleni- 
tude of  concerts;  he  wanted  more  pyrotechnics,  and  less 
tone.  "  What  the  deuce  do  you  and  I  care  for  their  con- 
certs!!" said  he,  and  I  yielded  a  sad  assent,  but  somehow  I 
felt  wounded  at  the  remark,  and  the  conversation  lagged  for 
a  while  thereafter;  but  after  all,  the  phrenologists  say  that 
Beethoven 's  head  shows  no  musical  bumps ,  and  I  can  there- 
fore bear  it  if  my  physiognomy  is  similarly  un tonal. 

The  literary  reader  in  Paris,  will  surely  go  often  to  the 
Comedie  Francaise  where  Moliere  is  given  in  pristine  purity. 
The  French  language  can  be  studied  here  with  the  least 
possible  exertion  and  the  greatest  possible  delight..  The 
first  point,  however,  which  will  jar  on  the  American  auditor 
is  the  singsong  tone  with  which  all  the  rhymes  are  delivered. 
But  he  must  not  protest — it  is  traditional.  But  he  may 
protest,  and  so  will  I,  at  turning  good  Anglo  Saxon  blank 
verse  into  the  chief  poetry  known  to  Frenchmen — rhymed 
couplets.     Fancy  Hamlet  singsonging 

"To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question, 
Whether  'tis  nobler,  at  the  mind's  suggestion 
To  bear  the  arrows  which  our  fate  doth  send, 
Or  by  opposing,  make  to  them  an  end."  !  ! 

The  military  music  of  France  deserves  a  word  or  two. 
The  band  of  the   Garde   Republicaine  is  one  of  the  finest 


260  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

military  bands  I  have  ever  heard,  and  all  the  bands  have  a 
chance  for  frequent  hearings,  for  the  public  squares  are 
alive  with  their  melody,  in  the  summer  months.  If  our 
Marine  Band  could  onty  hear  the  music  of  these  organiza- 
tions, they  would  repent  of  their  manifold  sins. 

But  Paris  is  not  all  of  France,  although  the  Parisian 
thinks  that  it  is;  if  the  traveler  has  time  for  the  lesser  cities, 
Rouen,  Nancy,  I/yons,  etc.,  he  will  find  a  different  race  of 
Frenchmen,  strong,  burly,  and  a  trifle  brusque  withal. 
And  if  he  goes  to  the  smaller  villages,  he  will  possibly  find 
some  types  of  folk  music  that  will  be  worth  his  while. 
The  folk  dances  are  a  constant  delight  to  the  musical 
traveler  if  he  can  find  them.  A  countiy  fair  is  one  thing 
in  America,  but  another  thing  altogether  in  any  part  of 
Europe.  With  us,  there  is  a  horse  trot,  a  few  prizes  for 
crazy  quilts,  bread-baking,  etc.,  but  abroad,  from  Norway 
to  Spain,  the  village  fete  is  devoted  to  other  sports.  The 
peasant  is  there  in  his  very  best  costume,  and  let  me  tell 
you  that  all  those  gold  and  silver  ornaments  that  you  see 
on  the  women ,  are  real  and  solid ,  for  almost  all  of  the 
peasantry  deny  themselves  jewelry  until  they  can  have 
something  beyond  plated  ware. 

There  is  plenty  of  dancing,  some  drinking,  and  if  it  is  a 
Jeirmesse,  some  right  enjoyable  fighting,  for  many  of  the 
peasants  would  not  think  that  they  had  had  a  really  good 
time  unless  they  had  a  few  black  and  blue  spots  to  show  for 
it.  But  the  folk-dancing  in  the  provincial  part  of  France, 
as  in  Holland  and  other  parts  of  Central  Europe,  is  es- 
pecially rhythmic  because  of  the  sabots  or  wooden  shoes, 
which  are  worn  by  men  and  women  alike.  Fancy  a  clog 
dance  participated  in  by  some  hundred  dancers  at  one  time. 
The  "click-clack,"  if  the  dance  takes  place  in  a  barn,  is 
wonderfully  effective,  and  I  think  that  some  dances,  the 
Bourree  for  example,  which  had  its  origin  in  Auvergne, 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  261 

had  their  inception  in  the  rhythmic  thump  of  the  wooden 
shoes.  The  composers  are  beginning  to  draw  classical  inspi- 
ration from  the  folk  dance,  and  they  will  find  it  a  mine  of 
musical  wealth.  For  example,  in  Norway  there  is  the  Hal- 
ling,  used  by  Grieg  and  Svendsen;  in  Russia  there  is  the 
male  dance,  the  Kamarinskaia,  used  by  Rubinstein  and  by 
Tschaikowsky;  in  Poland  the  Polonaise  and  Mazurka,  both 
idealized  by  Chopin;  in  Bohemia  there  is  thePulkaand  the 
Furiant,  used  by  Dvorak;  in  Hungary  there  exists  the 
Czardas,  of  which  Liszt  has  made  royal  use;  but  of  the  folk 
dances  of  South  France  and  of  Spain,  no  composer  has  as 
yet  made  classical  employment,  and  yet  there  is  even  more 
beauty  in  some  of  the  Tangos,  Jotas,  and  Basque  dances 
than  in  some  of  those  mentioned  above. 

But  about  musical  study  in  Paris;  there  are  few  Amer- 
icans who  pursue  the  French  course  of  musical  study, 
because  most  of  our  countrymen  believe  that  the  Germans 
have  a  first  mortgage  on  music,  and  no  other  nation  has 
anything  to  do  with  tuition.  This  is  a  mistake;  while  giv- 
ing every  homage  to  the  excellence  of  Teutonic  pedagogy, 
I  must  say  that  the  course  at  the  Paris  Conservatoire  is  re- 
markably thorough  and  effective.  The  harmony  course, 
for  example,  extends  over  years,  instead  of,  as  with  us, 
being  merely  a  series  of  dry  exercises,  or,  as  is  the  case  in 
some  of  the  new  music  schools,  leaving  the  pupil  stranded 
on  a  dreary  waste  of  secondary  seventh  chords .  They  make 
composers  there,  and  the  Grand  Prix  de  Rome,  the  largest 
musical  prize  awarded  in  the  world,  (for  which  they  allow 
only  Frenchmen  to  compete),  is  the  keystone  of  an  arch  which 
such  men  as  Massenet  and  Arabroise  Thomas  have  assisted 
in  building.  Especially  commendable  is  the  inflexibility  with 
which  the  authorities  add  solfeggio  to  the  musical  studies ; 
I  believe  that  if  a  person  were  to  apply  to  them  as  a  student 
of  the  bass  drum,  they  would  force  him  to  supplement  his 


2G2  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

course  with  a  few  terms  in  solfeggio.  The  result  is  that  all 
the  advanced  pupils  are  splendid  sight- readers.  We  are, 
however,  beginning  to  appreciate  the  need  of  this  in  Amer- 
ica, and  the  larger  music  schools  are  following  the  French 
lead  in  this  important  matter. 

Competition,  public  competition,  keeps  the  standard  of 
the  Paris  Conservatoire  at  a  high  level,  but  it  is  not  always 
an  edifying  affair  to  the  audience.  Berlioz  has  humorously 
told  of  a  public  piano  competition  wherein,  after  twenty 
pupils  had  played  a  certain  piece,  on  a  single  piano,  the  tor- 
tured instrument  began  playing  it  of  itself!  Back  of  such 
competitions,  and  back  of  all  the  debuts,  particularly  in  the 
vocal  branches,  there  is  an  incredible  amount  of  wire-pulling. 
I  should  betray  confidences  if  I  were  to  mention  names,  but 
during  the  race  for  a  position  at  the  grand  opera  recently ,  a 
great  composer  alluded  to  one  singer  who  has  since  become 
world-famous,  as  a  "voice  like  the  hinge  of  a  gate,  that 
needs  oiling, "  and  I  am  afraid  that  in  France,  as  in  Italy, 
the  critics  are  venal,  (there  are  noble  exceptions) ,  and  a 
pretty  face  often  carries  more  weight  with  a  teacher  than 
solid  musical  attainments. 

And  this  leads  to  a  very  important  statement;  no  young 
lady  should  ever  dare  to  study  in  France  or  Italy  without  a 
parent,  or  a  brother,  as  protector  or  adviser.  Americans 
often  think  those  who  raise  this  cry  prudish,  but  the  cold, 
calm  truth  had  better  be  insisted  on;  it  is  not  safe!  In 
more  phlegmatic  Germany  the  unprotected  musical  female 
may  sometimes  venture,  in  the  more  fiery  Latin  furnace, 
never. 

Of  course  the  vocalist  will  steer  straight  for  Italy,  and 
Milan  will  probably  be  the  city  of  his  choice.  Milan  is  the 
most  American  of  all  Italian  cities,  and  the  musical  student 
will  probably  feel  at  home  there  from  the  very  first.  He 
will,  however,  be  astonished  at  the  small  amount  of  "special 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  263 

method"  the  great  Italian  teachers  manage  to  get  along 
with;  there  will  be  very  little  said  about  "inter-costal  mus- 
cles,' '  or  "the  crico-thyroid,"  and  even  the  highly  honored 
"diaphragmatic  action"  which  some  of  our  voice  builders 
manage  to  orate  about  every  few  seconds,  will  be  taught,  but 
never  once  mentioned;  in  fact,  many  of  the  Milanese  teachers 
get  through  a  vocal  lesson  without  having  used  a  single  word 
of  more  than  four  syllables,  which  would  cause  them  to  be 
treated  with  proper  contempt  in  America.  But  somehow 
or  other  they  manage  to  teach  thoroughly,  and  if  you 
possess  a  good  voice  they  will  "finish  it"  in  a  different 
sense  from  that  of  the  "patent  method"  voice-architects. 

But  the  dark  side  of  the  picture  is  that  the  young  lady 
student  is  exposed  to  the  dangers  alluded  to  above,  and  that 
some  of  the  Italian  teachers  will  take  a  poor  voice,  out  of 
which  nothing  musical  can  ever  be  made,  and  feed  the 
victim  on  promises  until  her  money  is  all  gone.  The  hopes  of 
a  debut  in  opera  are  held  out  in  glittering  fashion,  even  to 
the  most  unpromising  pupils,  but  when  the  debut  comes  it 
is  nothing  to  be  especially  proud  of;  the  pupil  is  made  to 
pay  roundly,  and  an  engagement  for  a  single  night  is  ob- 
tained in  some  little  town,  for  the  smallest  Italian  towns 
have  some  sort  of  opera  house.  The  critics  (?)  of  one  or 
two  weekly  papers  are  taken  from  Milan  or  Florence  to  re- 
port the  matter.  These  critics  are  openly  bought,  and 
shower  down  "egregissimos"  and  "stupendissimos"  upon 
the  debutante  according  to  cash  received,  and  a  few  weeks 
thereafter  the  leading  journal  of  the  young  lad}T 's  native 
city  in  America  has  an  item  running,  "our  gifted  towns- 
woman  has  won  great  distinction  in  Italy .  Her  recent  debut 
in  opera  there  was  a  wonderful  triumph .  The  Italian  critics 
are  wild  in  her  praise,  and  predict  a  glorious  career  for  so 
distinguished  an  artist,"  and  meanwhile  nobody  in  Italy, 
outside  of  the  dependent  coterie  above  mentioned ,  knows 


264  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

anything  of  Miss  Hitone,  but  the  teacher  is  able  to  milk  his 
pecuniary  cow  a  little  longer.  The  picture  is  not  over- 
drawn; most  of  these  debuts  of  American  vocal  students  in 
Italy  amount  to  nothing  at  all;  it  is  merely  "trying  it  on 
the  dogs"  as  the  theatrical  expression  runs. 

Yet  the  true  artist  must  receive  some  instruction  in  Italy 
before  his  vocal  training  is  entirely  complete.  One  may 
declaim  against  Italian  music  in  the  ultra- Wagnerian  fashion 
of  to-day,  as  much  as  one  pleases,  yet  it  should  not  be  for- 
gotten that  Italy  is  the  mother  of  music,  and  even  while 
granting  superiority  to  other  schools  of  modern  composi- 
tion, we  may  still  insist  that  one  must  study  in  Italy  in 
order  to  sing  the  songs  of  Germany.  Madame  Albani  once 
told  me  that  she  felt  that  her  success  in  Wagnerian  roles 
was  chiefly  due  to  her  Italian  vocal  training. 

In  the  matter  of  piano  playing  and  composition  the 
American  student  generally  turns  to  Germany,  and  wisely, 
for  although  the  French  course  in  composition  is  very 
thorough,  Munich  or  Leipsic  present  no  such  temptations 
to  turn  aside  from  work  to  pleasure  and  dissipation  as  Paris 
does.  The  models,  too,  are  somewhat  higher  in  Germany, 
for  Mozart  is  generally  made  the,  foundation  and  Bach  the 
apex  there.  Counterpoint  can  be  studied  either  in  Munich 
or  Leipsic  to  advantage,  for  Rheinberger  in  the  former  city, 
is  one  of  the  greatest  of  modern  contrapuntists,  and  Jadas- 
sohn in  the  latter,  is  one  of  the  most  fluent  writers  in  canon 
and  other  intricate  forms,  that  the  world  possesses  to-day, 
and  he  has  besides  the  faculty  of  making  his  pupils  enthu- 
siastic in  their  work;  as  the  eminent  American  composer 
Chad  wick  once  said  to  me,  "after  each  lesson  I  wanted  to 
run  all  the  way  home,  to  get  at  work  on  the  points  of  the 
lesson  at  once!"  While  I  consider  Wagner's  operas  the 
highest  point  reached  in  this  great  school  of  music,  I  still 
deem  it  a  very   good  thing  for  the  students  of  Germany 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  265 

that  such  men  as  Reinecke  and  Rheinberger,  at  the  head  of 
great  schools,  have  not  yielded  to  the  Wagnerian  influence, 
for  Wagner  wrote  a  language  which  no  other  composer  can 
speak;  he  can  never  have  followers  in  the  creation  of  art 
works,  and  Liszt,  Bruckner,  and  all  the  others  who  have 
tried  to  imitate,  have  found  the  path  too  thorny  for  success. 
Wagner  swam  in  a  "sea of  tone" — his  disciples  only  drown 
themselves  in  it ,  and  the  conservative  music  schools  men- 
tioned above  do  a  good  work  in  forming  themselves  into  a 
species  of  musical  life-saving  stations.     Stuttgart,  Dresden, 
Frankfort,  and  Berlin,  also  draw  their  quota  of  American 
music  students,  but  as  I  personally  know  nothing  about  the 
musical  life  in  these  cities,  I  can  say  nothing  about  them. 
The  conservatory  at  Vienna,  however,  deserves  mention; 
very  few  American  students  ever  go  there,  yet  the  course 
is  admirable,  and  especially  in  the  branches  of  composition. 
There  is  one  great  influence  in  Germany  which  I  have  not 
yet  mentioned  ;  it  is  that  of  the  most  conservative  of  modern 
composers,  a  man  who  can  be  ranked  in  the  domain  of  vocal 
music  ouly  with  Schubert  and  Schumann,  a  man  who  has 
only  recently  passed  away,  but  whose  works  are  built  for  count- 
less generations  of  posterity — Robert  Franz.     He  stands  as 
a  grand  bulwark  against  the  modern  effusion  and  formless- 
ness in  music;  he  is  the  great  conservator  of  the  heritage 
which  the  world  has  in  the  works  of  the  old  masters.     It  is 
a  singular  instance  of  the  meeting  of  extremes,  that  Wagner 
should  have  highly  esteemed  Franz  and  his  works.     His 
self-abnegation  in  retouching  the  works  of  Bach  and  Handel 
has  never  received  the  acknowledgment  that  it  deserves ; 
and  his  songs,  I  venture  to  predict,  will  attain  their  great- 
est appreciation  in  the  twentieth  century. 

I  cannot  better  end  a  chapter  in  which  I  have  momen- 
tarily departed  from  the  paths  of  travel  and  spoken  of  Eu- 
ropean musical  influences,  than  by  imparting  to  my  readers 


266  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES, 

a  few  extracts  from  letters  written  to  me  in  the  three  years 
preceding  his  death,  (October  24,  1892),  by  this  most 
classical  song-composer.  These  letters  contain  so  much 
that  is  of  the  utmost  value  to  the  young  composer  that 
I  feel  that  no  confidence  is  violated  in  their  publication, 
particularly  as  I  have  suppressed  all  personal  matters 
which  have  been  touched  upon  in  them.  In  order  that 
I  may  do  no  injustice  to  the  composer's  meaning,  I  have 
deemed  it  best  to  give  the  original  German,  followed 
by  an  English  translation.  In  speaking  of  a  review  of  the 
character  of  his  songs  (Feb.  12,  1889)  he  says: 

"  Was  ich  aus  Hirer  Kritik  meiner  kunstlerischen  Leist- 
ungen  zu  errathen  vermag,  ist  mir  der  Passus  Tiber  die  Be- 
arbeitung  ganz  besonders  werthvoll;  er  trifft  den  Nagel  auf 
den  Kopf  und  stellt  die  verschrobenen  Ansichten,  denen 
man  hier  zu  Lande  heute  noch  in  Betrelf  dieser  Angelegen- 
heit  begegnet,  in  den  tiefsten  Schatten.  Aber  audi  die  Be- 
sprechung  meiner  Lieder  hat  ihre  grossen  Verdienste  und 
steht  im  directen  Gegensatz  mit  der  vielverbreiteten  Mein- 
ung,  dass  sie  alle  iiber  einen  Leisten  geschlagen  waren;  es 
bedarf  freilich  ernes  feineren  Verstandnisses  als  den  Leuten 
gewOhnlich  zueigen  ist,  urn  die  Unterschiede  meines  musi- 
kalischen  Ausd  rucks  herauszufinden .  Einer  der  character- 
istischesten  Ziige  derselben  durfte  darin  bestehen,  dass  ich 
keine  Musik  zu  den  Textvorlagen  mache,  sondern  jene  aus 
diesen  entwickle.  Die  beideu  ersten  Verse  eines  Heine'sclien 
Gedichtes  lauten: 

1  Wenn  du  gute  Augen  hast, 
Und  du  schaust  in  meine  Lieder, 
Siehst  du  eine  junge  Schone 
Drinnen  wandeln  auf  und  nieder. 

*  Wenn  du  gute  Ohren  hast, 
Kannst  du  gar  die  Stimme  horen, 
Und  ihr  Seufzen,  Lachen,  Singen 
Wird  dein  armes  Herz  bethoren.' 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  267 

Instinctiv  leistete  ick  dieser  Weisung  Heine's  Folge,  und 
ging  dabei  nur  von  der  Ueberzeugung  aus,  dass  mehr  ge- 
heimniss  voile  Beziehungen  zwischenPoesie  und  Musik  walten 
als  der  niichterne  Verstand  begreift;  '  jedes  echt  Lyrische 
Gedicht  enthallt  latent  seine  Melodie  in  sichl' 

Lediglich  auf  Grund  dieser  Thatsache  ist  es  mir  nicht 
ganz  misslungen  unter  Benutzung  guter  Uebersetzungen 
aus  dem  Russichen,  Schwedischen ,  Schottischen,  etc.,  mei- 
ner  Musik  nationale  Farbungen,  ohne  von  diesen  Kenntniss 
zu  haben ,  einzuf  iihren .  Daraus  erklart  sich's  denn  auch, 
dass  ich  die  Dichter  bestimmt  zu  individualisiren  im  Stande 
war. 

Kurzum,  ich  bestrebte  mich  stets  mein  personliches  Em- 
pfinden  mit  dem  Allgemeinen  in  Einklang  zu  bringen  und 
gelegentliche  Ausschreitungen  des  ersteren  zu  Gunsten  des 
letzteren  riicksichtslos  zu  beseitigen.  Die  Studien  welche 
ich  an  den  Meisterwerken  aller  Zeiten  machte,  gaben  mir 
dazu  eine  sichere  Directive." 

(Translation.) 
"  So  far  as  I  venture  to  understand  your  criticism  of  my 
artistic  endeavors,  the  review  seems  to  me  of  especial  value; 
it  hits  the  nail  on  the  head,  and  throws  the  distorted  views 
which  one  even  now  meets  with,  on  this  subject,  in  this 
country,  in  the  deepest  shade.  But  the  analysis  of  my 
songs  has  also  its  merit,  and  stands  in  direct  opposition  to 
the  widespread  idea  that  they  are  all  struck  upon  the  same 
last;  it  naturally  requires  a  finer  perception  than  people  are 
generally  gifted  with,  to  understand  the  differences  of  my 
musical  expression.  One  of  the  most  characteristic  traits 
of  this  may  lie  in  the  fact  that  I  do  not  make  the  music  to 
the  text,  but  rather  derive  it  from  the  subject.  The  two 
first  verses  of  one  of  Heine's  poems  run: 


268  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

'If  you  gaze  with  earnest  eye, 
And  upon  my  verses  ponder, 
You  will  see  a  beauteous  maid 
Through  their  mazes  gently  wander. 

4  If  you  list  with  careful  ears, 
E'en  her  voice  to  you  is  calling, 
And  her  sighing,  laughing,  singing, 
Soon  shall  be  your  heart  enthralling/ 

"Instinctively  I  gave  my  adhesion  to  this  direction  of 
Heine,  aud  worked  only  from  the  conviction  that  there  were 
closer  hidden  connections  between  Poetry  and  Music  than 
the  barren  intellects  comprehended;  every  true  lyric  poem 
holds  latent  within  itself  its  own  melody! 

"Solely  from  this  cause  I  have  not  entirely  failed,  through 
the  use  of  good  translations  from  the  Russian,  Swedish, 
Scotch,  etc.,  to  give  to  my  music  a  national  coloring,  with- 
out having  actual  knowledge  of  it.  This  also  explains  how 
I  was  able  with  surety  to  individualize  the  different  poets. 
In  short  I  constantly  strove  to  bring  my  personal  feeling 
into  unity  with  the  universal  (Allgemeinen) ,  and  to  put 
aside  all  excesses  of  the  former  for  the  benefit  of  the  latter, 
relentlessly.  The  studies  which  I  had  made,  of  the  master 
works  of  all  ages,  gave  me  a  sure  impulse  towards  this." 

It  is  singular,  in  reading  the  above  letter,  to  see  how 
closely  the  theory  of  this  master  comes  to  that  of  Wagner, 
in  the  connection  of  word  and  tone,  only  Franz  here  ex- 
presses himself  more  tersely.  Every  word  of  the  advice 
embodied  in  the  above  is  of  direct  value  to  the  music 
student,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  quiet  musician 
of  Halle  (Franz  is  one  of  the  most  modest  of  men)  did  not 
write  these  utterances  as  an  essay,  as  Wagner's  pamphlets 
were  written,  and  may  himself  be  surprised  at  their  becom- 
ing public. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  269 

In  a  later  letter,  speaking  of  the  influence  of  the  song  on 
music  in  general,  Franz  sa3rs: 

"Hier  zu  Lande  sieht  man  auf  dergleichen  Dinge  sehr 
von  Oben  herab,  von  dem  albernen  Vorurtheile  ausgehend, 
es  handle  sich  hier  nur  um  Formen,  die  so  ganz  beiliiufig 
entstehen.  Und  doch  ist  gerade  das  Lied  eius  der  Haupt- 
fundamente  unserer  Kunst;  eine  Ueberzeugung  die  Sie 
offenbar  theilen." 

Which  may  be  rendered: 

"Hereabouts  men  look  very  condescendingly  on  such 
things,  (song-forms) ,  starting  with  the  silly  conception  that 
one  has  to  do  here  with  forms  that  arise  only  incidentally; 
and  yet  the  Song  is  actually  one  of  the  chief  foundations  of 
our  art;  an  opinion  which  I  see  you  openly  share  with  me." 

In  another  letter,  dated  March  23, 1889,  Franz  expresses 
himself  still  more  emphatically  as  to  the  true  position  of 
the  Lied. 

"Bisher  sah  man  diese  Form  nicht  ohne  mitleidiges 
Achselziicken  an,  und  doch  ruht  auf  ihr,  einer  der  wesent- 
lichsten  Facto ren  der  Musik.  Was  mich  betrifft,  bereue  ich 
es  keinen  Augenblick,  dies  Gebiet  ausschliesslich  cultivirt, 
und  es  mit  meinenVorgangern  zu  Ehren  gebracht  zu  haben . ' ' 

"Sie  bedauern  es  dass  von  mir  keine  Werke  im  grossen 
styl  existiren;  meines  Erachtens  war  aber  nach  Beethoven 
nur  noch  Terrain  f  iir  den  specifish  lyrischen  Ausdruck  vor- 
handen,  und  wurden  auch  lediglich  auf  diesem  Gebiete 
namhafte  Resultate  erzielt.  Das  sage  ich  nicht  etwa  zur 
Rechtfertigung  meines  Standpunktes ,  sodern  berufe  mich 
dabei  auf  den  thatsachlichen  Yerlauf  unserer  Kunst;  die 
Music  begann  mit  der  Lyrik  und  schliesst  mit  ihr  ab — ein 
Entwicklungsprocess  den  die  Poesie  ebenfalls  genommen 
hat." 

(Translation.) 

' '  Until  now  men  never  looked  upon  this  form  [the  song 


270  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

form]  without  a  compassionate  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and 
yet  upon  it  rests  one  of  the  most  substantial  factors  of  music. 
As  regards  myself,  I  do  not  regret  for  an  instant  that  I  have 
cultivated  this  school  exclusively,  and  with  my  predeces- 
sors, brought  it  into  honor. 

You  write  that  you  are  sorry  that  there  exists  no  work  of 
mine  in  the  large  forms;  my  opinion  was,  however,  that 
after  Beethoven  there  was  only  room  for  specifically  lyrical 
expression  in  music"  [Here  again  we  have  a  resemblance 
to  a  theory  which  belongs  also  to  the  school  of  the  future.] 
"  and  solely  in  this  territory  have  especial  results  been 
achieved.  I  do  not  say  this  in  any  wise  as  a  justification 
of  my  standpoint,  but  rest  upon  the  actual  facts  in  the  pro- 
gress of  our  art.  Music  began  with  the  lyric  and  will  end 
with  it — a  process  of  development  that  poetry  has  also  un- 
dergone." 

I  am  sure  that  my  readers  will  need  no  apology  for  dis- 
gressing  from  the  path  of  travel  when  the  results  are  as 
precious  as  the  truths  enunciated  in  these  letters,  and  if  all 
do  not  give  their  entire  adhesion  to  the  last  theor}r,  at  least 
every  thinking  musician  will  coincide  with  the  splendidly 
expressed  views  regarding  the  worth  of  the  lyrical  form, 
and  the  intertwining  of  poetry  and  music. 

In  ending  this  rather  serious  chapter,  I  must  reiterate 
what  I  said  at  the  beginning; — don't  go  to  Europe  for  musi- 
cal study  until  you  have  entirely  exhausted  what  resources 
are  offered  you  in  your  own  fair  country,  and  study  just  as 
vehemently  and  persistently  in  Boston,  New  York,  Cincin- 
nati, Chicago,  or  any  other  American  musical  centre,  as  if 
you  were  in  Milan,  or  Paris,  or  Leipsic,  or  London,  and 
you  may  become  an  adept  in  your  art  before  having  seen 
Europe  at  all. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  271 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

The  routine  of  European  travel — useful  hints  as   to 

costume preventives  of  seasickness passports 

strassburg  regulations languages — customs  officers 

TIPS. 

Having  given  several  pages  of  admonition  to  the  musical 
traveler,  I  may  as  well  swing  for  a  sheep  as  for  a  lamb,  and 
proceed  to  lecture  the  general  tourist.  In  doing  this,  how- 
ever, I  shall  still  endeavor  to  keep  the  resolution  of  my  first 
chapter  and  avoid  stating  those  things  which  are  intermin- 
ably insisted  upon  in  the  regular  handbooks  of  travel. 

The  chief  vice  of  American  tourists  is  the  desire  to  sec 
everything,  by  which  they  generally  succeed  in  seeing 
nothing.  It  is  a  fallacy  of  these  lightning  voyagers,  to 
think  that  the  trip  itself  is  bound  to  be  uncomfortable  any- 
way, and  that  the  only  enjo}rment  of  trans- Atlantic  travel 
is  in  the  ability  to  talk  of  it  afterwards.  Never  was  there 
a  greater  mistake!  If  one  will  only  adapt  himself  to  cir- 
cumstances, and  never  hurry,  he  can  get  both  rest  and  edu- 
cation out  of  a  European  tour. 

It  is  wise,  however,  to  cut  the  coat  according  to  the  cloth, 
both  in  the  matter  of  time  and  money,  at  the  very  begin- 
ning. If  it  is  to  be  a  four  weeks  tour,  go  to  Scotland, 
through  the  Trossachs,  the  land  of  Rob  Roy.  Read  up 
Scott,  and  take  four  or  five  days  in  Edinburgh,  go  down  to 
Melrose  Abbey,  see  Abbots  ford,  then  take  in  Stratford  and 


272  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

Kenil worth,  and  take  a  week  or  more  in  London,  but  don't 
imagine  that  you  are  seeing  a  hundredth  part  of  what  the  lat- 
ter city  has  to  offer.  After  this,  to  Liverpool  and  home. 
If  you  have  two  weeks  more  at  your  disposal,  go  to  Ant- 
werp and  Rotterdam,  then  take  a  few  days  in  Amsterdam, 
then  to  Cologne,  up  the  Rhine,  strike  back  to  Brussels, 
Flushing,  and  go  home  again.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  with 
some  tourists,  seeing  European  life  means  only  tasting  the 
lower  kinds  of  dissipation  in  London  or  Paris;  I  have  known 
very  stately  Americans  take  up  this  meretricious  style  of 
"seeing  life"  from  the  moment  they  arrived  on  foreign  shores. 
Of  course  all  the  handbooks  give  instructions  as  regards 
costume  on  shipboard,  but  not  one  of  them  dwells  upon  the 
fact  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  make  oneself  a  scare-crow 
just  because  one  has  temporarily  left  terra  firma.  I  suppose 
that  there  is  scarcely  any  phase  in  traveling,  in  which  a 
well-dressed  lady  looks  better  than  when  reclining  in  some- 
body-else's steamer  chair,  in  an  interesting,  languid  state 
of  convalescence  from  seasickness,  and  she  has  the  addi- 
tional satisfaction  of  knowing  that  most  of  her  unwise  sis- 
ters are  waddling  around  the  deck  in  old  clothes  and 
frightfully  unbecoming  bonnets  or  other  head  gear.  Of 
course  the  dressy  extreme  is  more  absurd  still;  I  shall  never 
forget  a  lady  of  uncertain  date,  who  crossed  on  the  "  City 
of  Rome  "  once  with  a  personally  conducted  party.  She 
had  an  extensive  wardrobe  and  she  determined  to  show  it 
at  all  hazards;  she  sat  in  the  music  room  every  day,  and 
every  twenty-four  hours  brought  forth  a  new  and  gorgeous 
costume.  I  wish  that  I  were  a  fashion  reporter  that  I  might 
give  some  idea  of  her  paraphernalia;  she  did  not  feel  very 
comfortable,  but  she  sat  through  the  ordeal  of  the  voyage 
with  the  persistency  of  a  martyr,  and  altogether  was  the 
greatest  example  of  traveling  vulgarity  that  it  has  ever  been 
my  fortune  to  run  across. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES  273 

It  is  singular  that  newly  wedded  couples  should  brave 
the  qualms  of  the  sea  so  frequently.  Nothing  can  so  quickly 
eclipse  the  honeymoon  as  the  perception  of  a  once  fair  fe- 
male, now  white-nosed  and  limp.  If,  as  is  often  the  case, 
the  young  husband  is  too  absorbed  in  his  own  troubles  to 
see  anything,  all  is  well;  but  if  the  husband  is  wilted  and 
the  wife  is  entirely  well,  the  marital  balance  is  disturbed 
for  ever  after. 

Let  remedies  severely  alone  on  your  sea  trip;  there  is  no 
cure  for  seasickness!  I  have  noted  many  come  on  board 
almost  stupefied  with  bromide  of  sodium,  and  these  have 
frequently  been  the  worst  of  all  the  sufferers. 

As  regards  passports,  it  is  just  as  well  to  have  one,  even  it 
you  only  use  it  for  purposes  of  identification.  At  Strass* 
burg  they  used  to  demand  them,  but  this  is  about  the  only 
place  outside  of  Russia,  where  they  have  recently  been  called 
into  actual  requisition,  and  that  only  on  the  German  side  of 
the  fence.  How  rigidly  they  enforced  passport  regulations 
may  be  judged  by  the  following  incident  which  occurred  but  a 
year  ago :  A  young  mother  from  Australia  had  traveled  all  the 
way  to  Paris  with  her  boy,  a  pale  and  pitiable  lad  of  seven 
years,  who  was  a  sufferer  from  some  spinal  complaint. 
Finding  no  relief  for  the  invalid  in  Paris,  she  set  forth  to 
one  of  the  German  water-cures  in  anxious  haste.  Naturally 
she  knew  nothing  of  passports,  and  had  provided  none;  ar- 
rived at  German  Avricourt,  the  frontier,  an  officer  boarded 
the  train  to  examine  these  documents.  It  had  been  an  ex- 
hausting all-night  ride,  and  the  child  was  nearly  dead,  but 
that  made  no  difference  to  that  officer;  I  assured  him  that 
the  little  cripple  did  not  intend  to  overthrow  the  German 
empire,  but  received  no  reply.  The  boy  was  turned  back 
with  his  mother;  whether  he  ever  reached  Paris  alive  is  just 
a  trifle  doubtful  to  me.  Of  course  the  officer  was  not  to 
blame,  for  the  German  discipline  is  so  strict  that  he  prob- 


274  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

ably  would  have  been  court-martialed  had  he  let  the  invalid 
pass  through.  Going  from  Strassburg  to  Paris  no  passport 
is  needed,  for  the  French  fear  the  effect  of  such  a  scrutiny 
on  the  trade  of  Paris  (the  merchants  of  Strassburg  com- 
plained bitterly  that  their  business  was  almost  ruined  by  the 
restriction) ,  but  they  try  in  some  occult  fashion  to  make  it 
uncomfortable  for  the  Germans  who  get  over  the  frontier. 
I  experienced  this  once  at  French  Avricourt  (for  the  town 
is  divided  in  two  sections  of  opposing  nationality; ,  where 
the  lieutenant  mistook  me  for  a  ferocious  Teuton .  ( '  Vous 
etes  Allemande?"  he  angrily  said,  only  half  inquiringly. 
4 'Mais  non!"  I  replied,  "je  suis  Americain ! "  and  the  smiles 
and  apologies  which  ensued  led  me  to  inquire  what  would 
have  been  done  to  me  if  I  had  been  German,  and  I  was  told 
that  I  would  have  been  watched,  but  I  am  convinced  that  I 
should  have  been  led  to  the  deepest  dungeon  beneath  the 
castle  moat,  just  as  happens  in  G.  P.  R.  James'  novels. 
The  contrast  between  the  dapper,  undersized  French  soldier 
and  the  heavy-built  German,  is  a  very  marked  one,  but  it 
may  be  safely  stated  that  there  will  never  again  be  such  a 
walk-over  as  occurred  in  France  in  1871. 

Of  course,  if  you  speak  only  English,  you  will  miss  a 
great  deal  of  possible  pleasure  on  your  European  tour,  yet 
it  is  possible  to  get  along  without  knowledge  of  any  foreign 
tongue,  for  in  the  hotels  every  porter  is  proud  of  his  Eng- 
lish and  the  larger  shopkeepers  have  studied  the  language, 
with  designs  upon  your  purse.  In  France  there  is  quite  an 
English  fever  at  present,  and  every  one  who  knows  a  few 
words  of  our  tongue  will  trot  them  out  to  astonish  you  on 
every  available  opportunity.  Even  the  railway  officials  are 
attacked  with  this  fever.  On  the  railway,  near  Rheims, 
shortly  after  the  Strassburg  episode  noted  above,  I  gave  the 
conductor  some  good  Chicago  French,  desiring  to  know 
when  I  could  change  into  the  dining  wagon;  he  returned  me 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  275 

my  change  in  Rheims  English  by  saying  "  Ila!  Five-teen 
minutes  is  arrest!"  which  caused  me  some  tribulation  as  I 
could  only  interpret  it  to  mean  that  I  was  to  be  arrested  in 
fifteen  minutes,  possibly  on  account  of  my  breaking  into, 
and  mangling,  the  French  language;  what  it  actually  did 
mean,  I  found  out  at  the  next  station,  where  we  stopped 
fifteen  minutes.  And  apropos  of  the  crossing  of  frontiers, 
do  not  trust  to  the  word  of  any  official  whatever,  as  regards 
your  baggage;  look  after  it  yourself.  In  Strassburg  every 
railway  official,  from  the  station  master  down  to  the  porter, 
told  me  that  the  trunk  which  I  had  registered  to  Paris  would 
be  examined  there  and  nowhere  else,  }*et  just  as  the  train 
was  starting  away  from  the  frontier,  I  thought  that  I  would 
take  a  look  at  the  unfortunates  who  were  obliged  to  so 
through  the  ordeal  of  examination  at  the  station  of  Avri- 
court;  and  there,  in  solitary  grandeur,  stood  my  trunk,  and 
would  have  stood  there  to  eternity,  if  I  had  entirely  relied 
upon  the  German  railway  officials. 

Customs  examinations  are  a  necessary  evil,  and  vary 
greatly ,  according  to  the  humor  of  the  party  who  is  to  probe 
into  your  dirty  linen.  Sometimes  he  will  just  glance  at 
your  face,  size  you  up  as  an  inoff ending  tourist,  who  will 
only  endeavor  to  cheat  the  customs  at  New  York,  open  the 
lid  of  your  box,  smile,  take  a  cigar,  and  chalk  you  through. 
At  other  times  you  will  meet  a  governmental  party  who  will 
take  an  interest  in  every  detail  of  your  wardrobe,  who  will 
muse  over  your  tooth  brush  as  if  he  thought  that  you  might 
have  hidden  something  between  the  bristles,  and  will  explore 
your  socks  down  to  the  very  toes.  Once,  at  least,  I  was 
able  to  overcome  such  an  official;  it  was  on  the  Italian  fron- 
tier, and  I  had  just  had  a  charming  example  of  what  octroi 
meant,  by  a  custom  house  officer  at  Trieste  wanting  to  charge 
me  two  dollars  on  one  dollar's  worth  of  candy  which  I  was 
taking  to  a  friend  at  Adelsberg;  I  gave  the  official  the  candy 


276  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES, 

as  a  souvenir  and  swore  at  him  a  little  in  English  which  he 
did  not  comprehend.  When,  therefore,  at  the  Italian  cus- 
tom house  I  found  another  suspicious-looking  party  ready 
to  unpack  my  washing  for  me,  I  determined  to  presume  on 
his  ignorance  of  my  native  tongue.  He  asked  me  in  Italian 
for  my  keys;  I  gazed  out  into  space;  he  repeated  the  ques- 
tion in  French,  but  I  still  was  absorbed  in  the  beauties  of  the 
landscape;  he  then  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  repeated 
the  whole  story;  I  asked  him  in  English,  "  What  do  you 
want?"  He  grew  excited  and  took  refuge  in  pantomime; 
he  pointed  to  the  trunk  and  then  to  me;  I  nodded  vehe- 
mently and  pointed  to  myself,  intimating  that  the  trunk 
belonged  to  me,  and  then  paused,  as  if  that  was  all  that  there 
was  to  it;  he  now  danced  around  with  more  frenzy  than 
grace,  and  finally ,  struck  with  an  idea,  pointed  at  my  pocket; 
I  gave  a  nod  of  comprehension,  and  drew  from  my  pocket 
— my  railroad  ticket!  At  last  the  now  thoroughly  aroused 
officer  exhibited  a  gleam  of  almost  human  intelligence,  and 
made  a  pantomime  of  unlocking  the  trunk!  It  was  impos- 
sible to  misunderstand  that,  and  with  a  very  bland  smile  I 
handed  him  my  key,  but  everyone  else  had  been  examined, 
and  the  train  conductor  was  getting  impatient,  and  he 
thought  that  an  idiot  of  my  caliber  wouldn't  have  the  brains 
to  smuggle  much  anyway,  and  therefore  he  made  a  hurried 
chalk  mark  on  the  trunk  and  I  went  on  my  way,  avenged. 
Much  more  serious  than  this  is  quarantine,  which  some- 
times falls  to  the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  tourist,  in  cholera 
times.  This  means  passing  from  one  to  three  weeks  on  an 
island,  or  on  shipboard,  without  a  book,  a  paper,  or  any 
communication  with  the  outside  world  whatever.  I  have 
seen  the  harbor  of  Trieste  black  with  ships  that  were  in 
quarantine,  and  the  wretches  on  board  could  do  nothing 
but  gaze  at  the  water,  or  the  wharves  in  the  distance,  until 
their  term  of  imprisonment  was  over.     If  a  person  has  only 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  277 

a  six  week's  vacation,  I  should  not  advise  spending  three 
weeks  of  it  in  quarantine.  Fumigation  is  better,  only  be- 
cause the  ordeal  is  shorter.  They  put  you  in  a  room  and 
then  bnrn  things  that  make  an  odor  beside  which  all  the 
hundred  smells  of  Cologne,  and  all  the  Danish  cheese  fac- 
tories, sink  into  insignificance.  Once  in  a  while  a  person 
faints  at  the  perfume.  The  odor  lingers  in  your  memory 
forever,  and  in  your  clothes  nearly  as  long.  A  story 
is  told  of  a  New  Yorker  who  went  into  the  country 
and  fainted  because  of  the  fresh  air;  they  tried  every 
means  to  revive  him,  but  all  in  vain;  at  last  a  person 
who  had  been  in  the  metropolis  and  knew  the  atmos- 
phere, held  a  very  dead  fish  under  the  Gothamite's  nose, 
when  he  murmured,  "That  smells  like  home!"  and  re- 
covered. "Well,  that  New  Yorker  would  feel  at  home  in  the 
fumigating  chamber,  but  less-seasoned  mortals  had  better 
avoid  it.  It  is  a  very  rich  smell !  A  sort  of  Vanderbilt 
smell ! 

If  you  speak  no  language  but  English ,  pray  avoid  fall- 
ing into  two  errors  while  abroad;  firstly,  do  not  imagine 
that  people  will  understand  yo\x  more  readily  if  you  shout, 
and,  secondly,  never  forget  that  almost  every  person  of 
culture,  in  central  and  northern  Europe,  speaks  English. 
As  regards  the  first  of  these  faults,  almost  every  American 
shouts  his  way  through  Europe,  and  American  ladies  can 
be  recognized  quite  a  distance  off,  hy  their  thin,  shrill, 
acidulous  tones.  Every  person  who  listens  will  be  struck 
with  the  difference  between  the  strident  quality  of  the  con- 
versational tone  of  the  American  and  the  full,  mellow, 
agreeable  voice  of  the  Englishwoman.  I  hope  that  none  of 
my  readers  will  think  me  unpatriotic  in  holding  up  the 
vulgarisms  of  the  American  snob  abroad,  to  scorn.  There 
are  hosts  of  gentle  travelers  from  America,  in  Europe, 
every  season,  but  there  are  others  who  set  one's  teeth  on 


278  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

edge  by  their  flaunting,  flaring  manners,  and  the  worst 
of  it  all  is  that  these  attract  attention  while  the  better 
bred  travelers  do  not,  so  that  the  reputation  of  the 
American  tourist  is  lowered.  Once,  at  the  railway  station 
in  Stratford-on-Avon,  while  waiting  for  the  London  train, 
I  had  an  illustration  of  both  the  rapacity  of  the  Briton  and 
the  vulgarity  of  the  American  tourist.  In  a  sweltering 
hot  day,  after  a  walk  of  half  an  hour  or  so,  every  one  came 
to  the  station  in  a  state  of  thirst  and  collapse.  Not  a  drop 
of  water  was  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  waiting-rooms.  The 
canny  guardian  of  the  refreshment  room  improved  her 
opportunity  and  sold  a  rather  warm  sort  of  brackish  water 
at  a  penny  a  glass!  Thus  ended  the  first  lesson.  Then 
there  entered  a  party  of  American  tourists  (a  New  York 
party,  I  believe) ,  and  took  possession  of  the  restaurant 
altogether.  They  came  in  like  an  invading  army,  and  they 
treated  the  occupants  as  natural  enemies.  They  abused  the 
waiter,  the  food,  the  drink;  they  cast  their  money  about  in 
wild  and  reckless  profusion,  and  after  spending  a  small  for- 
tune one  of  them  asked  the  proprietor  how  she  liked  Ameri- 
cans. "I  don't  like  'em,'*  was  the  candid  answer  of  the 
water  pedlar.  When  pressed  for  details,  this  aqueous 
speculator  launched  forth  against' the  manners  of  American 
tourists.  With  the  examples  standing  before  her,  the  lec- 
ture became  a  sort  of  animated  object  lesson,  and  the  money- 
grubbing  Englishwoman,  and  the  loud-voiced,  vitupera- 
tivc,but  generous  Americans  stood  in  very  vivid  contrast 
there.     Thus  ended  the  second  lesson. 

Another  trait  which  the  tourist  cannot  well  avoid  seeing 
if  he  is  only  moderately  observant,  but  one  which  is  by  no 
means  exclusively  American ,  is  the  selfishness  which  is  de- 
veloped by  travel.  The  best  seat  in  the  railway  compart- 
ment, the  best  berth  in  the  steamer,  the  upper  perch  in  the 
diligence,  is  always  struggled  for,  and  sometimes  in  a  most 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  279 

annoying  manner.  About  all  of  the  flying  tourists  that  I 
have  seen  making  a  dash  at  Europe,  have  this  fault,  but  I 
remember  one  rather  over-religious  dame,  unmarried  but 
still  a  trifle  mouldy,  who  adopted  the  opposite  course,  and 
would  ostentatiously  take  the  poorest  of  steamboat,  rail- 
road, or  stage-coach  hospitality;  and  she  was  a  little  worse 
than  the  other  kind,  and  decidedly  more  unnatural. 

As  regards  tips  in  Europe,  the  traveler  who  does  not  give 
a pourboire  to  the  waiter,  coachman,  or  whatever  else  his 
occupation  may  be,  is  really  robbing  the  man  of  part  of  his 
salary.  I  once  had  a  conversation  with  some  waiters  who 
were  on  a  strike,  in  Paris;  and  then  the  whole  system  of 
tipping  was  laid  open  to  me;  in  some  of  the  cafes  on  the 
boulevards,  the  waiters  not  only  receive  no  salary  but 
actually  pay  for  their  situations!  In  other  places  the  waiter 
is  under  pledge  to  turn  in  half  of  his  tips  to  the  proprietor, 
and  if  these  amount  to  an  insufficient  sum,  he  is  obliged  to 
pay  a  certain  fine  over  and  above  this  depletion  of  his  purse. 
Of  course  it  is  greatly  to  be  desired  that  the  proprietor 
should  add  a  trifle  to  the  price  of  his  wares  and  pay  a  higher 
salary  to  his  help,  but  any  effort  at  a  reform  here  would 
only  make  matters  harder  for  a  class  who  are  overworked 
and  underpaid  as  it  is;  therefore  it  is  as  well  to  go  on  pay- 
ing the  slight  tribute,  and  remembering  that  it  is  only  pay- 
ing to  Csesar  the  things  which  ought  to  be  Caesar's.  And 
furthermore,  that  traveler  is  a  very  unwise  one  who  stops  to 
combat  every  extortion;  one  must  learn  to  be  cheated  oc- 
casionally, with  equanimity.  I  once  had  for  a  traveling 
companion  one  of  those  uncomfortable  fellows  who  stand 
up  at  every  slight  imposition,  "just  for  the  principle  of  the 
thing."  In  Cologne  he  found  a  waiter  who  overcharged 
him  two  pfennige  (a  half-cent)  when  he  settled  his  reckon- 
ing at  one  of  the  cafes.  He  made  such  a  riot  about  the 
matter  that   the  proprietor   discharged   the  culprit.     The 


280  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

next  day  the  waiter  met  the  man  who  had  made  such  un- 
expected insistence  to  his  prices,  and  there  was  a  disgrace- 
ful fisticuff  fight  in  the  street.  The  party  who  had  been 
overcharged  stayed  two  days  extra  in  Cologne  for  the  small 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  waiter  sent  to  prison.  It  may 
have  been  perfectly  just,  I  don't  doubt  but  that  it  was,  but 
I  left  that  companion  at  once,  and  I  always  felt  a  little 
sorry  for  the  waiter  whose  reputation  was  irretrievably 
ruined  for  a  half  cent.  For  myself,  I  always  regarded  my- 
self as  the  legitimate  prey  of  the  garcons  up  to  two  or  three 
cents,  and  I  allowed  that  amount  of  extortion  calmly,  for  I 
did  not  come  abroad  to  reform  Europe,  but  if  the  squeez- 
ing went  beyond  that  I  resisted,  and  always  effectually, 
since  even  the  barrelhoop,  when  trodden  on,  will  turn; 
therefore  I  hope  that  no  strict  puritan  will  hold  me  guilty 
of  compounding  felonies  or  encouraging  crime. 

There  is  one  subject  of  which  no  guidebook  speaks,  yet 
which  will  impress  the  American  most  forcibly  of  all  his 
European  experiences.  It  is  rather  a  medical  subject,  and 
possibly  a  false  delicacy  leads  to  its  being  passed  over  in 
silence.  It  is  that  four  out  of  every  five  Americans  will 
feel  the  change  of  climate  in  the  shape  of  a  very  itchy  rash 
which  will  invariably  be  ascribed  to  the  maligned  and 
long-suffering  flea.  As  this  rash  breaks  out  almost  simul- 
taneously with  the  arrival  in  Europe,  this  insect  which  goes 
on  its  career,  as  Gilbert  and  Sullivan  describe  it 

"Gaily  tripping, 
Lightly  skipping," 

may  be  acquitted  of  the  "  rash  "  deed;  the  flea  is  enterpris- 
ing, but  not  so  much  as  that.  The  annoyance  probably 
comes  from  the  change  of  air  and  of  diet,  and  if  wines  and 
ale  are  abstained  from,  and  a  cooling  diet  used,  together 
with  much  bathing,  the  trouble  soon  disappears. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  281 

Shopping  on  the  continent  is  a  never-ending  delight  to 
ladies,  and  there  are  some  elements  of  surprise  in  it.  I 
could  never  fathom  the  implicit  trust  which  shopkeepers 
repose  in  their  American  customers.  Go  to  any  of  the  large 
stores  in  Switzerland  or  Italy,  for  example,  and  buy  until 
your  purse  is  empty,  and  the  salesman  will  show  you  yet 
one  more  desirable  purchase;  "but,"  you  say,  "my  money 
has  given  out;"  it  will  not  matter  in  the  slightest  degree; 
the  shopkeeper,  who  has  never  seen  you  before,  will  urge 
you  to  take  it  along,  and  send  him  the  money  "any  time." 
This  has  happened  to  me  again  and  again ,  yet  I  have  never 
found  out  the  cause  of  such  a  child-like  faith.  It  may  be 
that  my  countenance  inspires  confidence,  but  why  do  not 
the  shopkeepers  of  New  York  or  Boston  come  under  its  in- 
fluence? 

I  think  that,  upon  the  whole,  in  calm  blood,  after  his 
traveling  is  over,  the  American  will  conclude  that  our  sys- 
tem of  railway  and  steamboat  journeying  is  superior  to  that 
of  Europe.  There  are  no  steamers,  for  example,  which  can 
compare  with  the  large  passenger  boats  of  Long  Island 
Sound,  in  any  part  of  Europe,  and  the  foreign  system  of  bag- 
gage transportation  is  simply  abominable.  In  Great  Britain 
you  simply  put  your  trunk  on  the  van,  and  claim  it  at  the  sta- 
tion. What  surety  there  is  for  you  if  anybody  else  gets 
there  and  claims  it  first,  I  do  not  know.  Once,  in  Glasgow, 
I  came  very  near  to  getting  away  with  another  person's 
luggage,  through  the  incorrect  description  given  to  me  of 
my  companion's  trunk. 

If  time  hangs  heavy  on  the  male  tourist's  hand,  he  will 
find  never-ending  surprises  in  devoting  himself  to  the  game 
of  billiards.  I  feel  that  I  should  not  be  doing  my  duty  to 
my  male  readers  if  I  did  not  add  a  short  disquisition  on  the 
European  methods  of  this  game.  In  England,  where  the 
tables  are  of  tremendous  size,  the  balls  as  small  as  homceo- 


282  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

pathic  pills,  and  the  cues  as  long  and  pointed  as  trout  poles, 
the  chief  interest  in  the  game  is  to  denounce  the  "scratches" 
(now  called  "  flukes  ")  of  your  opponent  and  to  trust  to 
winning  the  long  siege  by  outliving  him.  In  France,  the 
tables  are  as  small  as  a  summer  hotel  bedstead,  and  the  balls 
as  large  as  cannon  balls,  and  there  the  only  interest  centers 
in  getting  a  blind  man  to  play  with  you;  and  even  then  he 
generally  wins  the  game.  But  in  Hamburg  I  found  the 
acme  of  primitive  billiards.  The  tables  were  evidently  fos- 
sils of  the  palaeozoic  period ,  and  the  cushions  were  primeval 
flint.  When  the  ball  lodged  under  the  cushion,  it  was  a 
pleasing  athletic  diversion  to  wedge  it  out  again .  There 
were  no  means  of  counting,  but  the  players  were  expected 
to  carry  the  score  "  in  their  heads."  As  for  a  long  time 
neither  counted  anything,  this  was  an  easy  burden.  After 
an  hour  or  two,  we  concluded  to  leave  the  Hamburg  cham- 
pionship undecided. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  283 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Departure  from  London — a  funereal  cabby — Scotland 

edinburgh  and  glasgow abbotsford liverpool 

homeward  bound a   typical   steamer   concert the 

humors  of  an  ocean  voyage steerage  life home 

AGAIN . 

London  can  never  pall  upon  the  true  cosmopolitan;  the 
cockney,  too,  loves  London  with  an  ardor  second  only  to 
that  of  the  Frenchman  for  Paris.  The  traveler  who  sees 
London  only  for  a  week  or  a  month,  may  imagine  it  dull, 
but  he  who  pitches  his  tents  there  for  a  good  length  of  time, 
comes  gradually  to  understand  why  Dickens  could  not  be 
permanently  happy  away  from  it.  One  can  study  human 
kind  better  there  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world .  It  was 
not,  therefore ,  that  I  was  tired  of  London,  that  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  it  suddenly;  it  was  simply  that  I  could,  by  immedi- 
ate departure,  have  a  glimpse  of  some  Scotch  friends  and 
scenery  before  the  sailing  of  the  steamer  that  was  to  carry 
me  home  from  Liverpool.  Every  moment  counted,  and 
therefore  I  packed  hastily,  and  calling  a  hansom,  was  soon 
on  my  way  to  the  Euston  Station.  I  had,  however,  calcu- 
lated without  my  host,  or  at  least  without  my  cabman,  who 
went  at  a  most  leisurely  pace,  and  ingeniously  got  entangled 
in  two  blockades.  We  thereupon  had  two  or  three  passages 
of  repartee  through  the  hole  in  the  roof,  which  made  the 
horse  go  slower  than  before,  as  he  evidently  desired  to  stop 


284  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

and  listen  to  the  lively  conversation,  and  then  stop  again 
and  think  it  over.  Total  result,  train  missed  by  two  min- 
utes ,  and  no  other  train  for  six  hours .  And  now  ensued  a 
very  animated  parliamentary  debate,  which  necessitated  a 
policeman,  who  kindly  consented  to  act  as  chairman,  to  call 
us  to  order.  I  moved  a  series  of  resolutions,  that,  in  view 
of  the  tardiness  of  the  entire  operations,  the  financial  ques- 
tion should  be  indefinitely  postponed;  and  also  passed  a 
vote  of  lack  of  confidence.  The  house  divided  on  the 
former  point,  after  a  stirring  address  from  the  cabby,  in 
which  he  eloquently  touched  upon  the  fact  that  I  wanted  a 
race  horse  for  a  shilling.  I  rose  to  a  personal  explanation 
here,  and  begged  to  inquire  if,  when  desirous  of  reaching 
an  evening  train  at  Euston  Station,  one  should  start  the 
day  previous.  The  cabman  here  moved  the  previous  ques- 
tion— financial  budget.  I  then  made  the  "greatest  effort 
of  my  life,"  and  extended  a  formal  invitation  (R.  S.  V.  P.) 
for  the  cabby  to  ctme  down  and  get  it  if  he  could,  also 
promising  that  he  would  find  a  warm  and  hearty  reception. 
The  chairman  declared  this  point  out  of  order  and  suggested 
a  compromise.  The  debate  now  became  less  spirited  and  a 
reduced  appropriation  bill  was  finally  passed. 

After  all,  the  cabman  had  the  best  of  it  in  our  little  pas- 
sage-at-arms,  for  his  final  repartee  was  to  drive  off  with  my 
umbrella  and  overcoat  (which  I  forgot  in  the  heat  of  de- 
bate) ,  and  I  am  left  to  sing  a  la  Tosti — 

"  I  feel  that  they  are  lost  to  me 
Forever  and  forever." 

But  the  average  London  cabby  only  obe}rs  the  scriptural 
injunction  as  regards  the  stranger;  he  "takes  him  in" — aw- 
fully. The  moral  of  my  experience  is — never  hire  a  Lon- 
don hansom  by  the  hour.  The  original  of  Rip  van  Winkle 
is  said  to  have  thus  hired  one  to  go  from  Brixton  to  Cam- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  235 

den  (both  in  London) ;  when  he  arrived  his  friends  were 
dead,  the  old  house  was  pulled  down,  no  one  remembered 
him,  and  everything  else  happened  a  la  Joe  Jefferson  and 
Washington  Irving. 

But  if  you  can  once  get  the  hansom  ite  to  appear  ridicu- 
lous the  battle  is  won .  I  knew  a  lady  once  to  overcome 
one  thus :  As  he  received  his  proper  fare  he  held  it  forth 
contemptuously  in  his  palm  and  asked  "Wot's  this?"  The 
fair  fare  merely  gave  a  glance  and  said,  "  A  very  dirty 
hand."     Exit  hansom. 

They  sell  drinking  water  in  English  railway  stations! 
Fancy  taxing  a  freeborn  American  a  penny  for  a  glass  of 
very  inferior  aquapura.  That  is  why  the  Britons  seldom 
touch  the  article,  I  suppose.  Even  that  scriptural  drink, 
mineral  water  ("  Though  Paul  may  plant,  and  Apollinaris 
water,"  I  think  is  the  biblical  quotation),  is  not  readily 
forthcoming. 

I  went  through  to  Glasgow,  intending  to  begin  Scotland 
at  the  further  end,  and  work  back  to  Liverpool.  Of  Glas- 
gow itself  I  will  say  but  little.  It  is  a  purely  commercial 
city  and  of  no  greater  interest  to  the  litterateur  than,  say 
Chicago.  But  T  had  a  glorious  combination  of  Chicago  and 
Glasgow  with  me  in  the  shape  of  a  native  Glasgonian,  who 
had  lived  in  Chicago  for  fifteen  years — Mr.  William  Bun- 
ten,  an  extensive  grain  dealer.  When  Scotch  and  Ameri- 
can (Western)  hospitality  unite  in  one  host,  the  result  is  a 
headache  to  the  guest.  I  can  prove  this  mathematically. 
After  Mr.  Bunten  had  introduced  me  to  everybody  in  Glas- 
gow (including  Mr.  Lambeth,  the  city  organist,  somewhat 
in  his  dotage,  but  an  excellent  musician),  we  wound  up 
with  a  real  Scotch  dinner  at  Forrester's,  the  Delmonico's 
of  Scotland.  To  me  the  foreign  dinners  possess  an  interest 
not  exceeded  by  the  foreign  ruins,  and  they  are  seen  with 
less   personal   inconvenience.       We   began    with   a  "  notch- 


286  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

potch,"  which  is  a  soup  in  which  all  possible  and  impossible 
vegetables  are  thrown.  This  did  not  inspire  me  greatly, 
for  I  had  already  tasted  all  the  herb  soups  of  that  soup- 
herb  country,  France.  But  now  followed  the  real  dish — a 
Scotch  "  haggis."  I  doubt  not  but  that  all  of  my  readers 
are  familiar  with  this  dish  in  the  abstract,  from  the  verses 
of  Robert  Burns,  and  by  the  way,  Mr.  Bun  ten  recited  the 
whole  poem  most  fervently  before  we  attacked  the  dish,  and 
especially  the  stanzas  running — 

"Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  puddin'  race, 
Aboon  them  a'  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,  tripe  or  thairm ; 
"Weel  are  ye  wordy  of  a  grace 

As  lang's  my  arm. 

****** 

Ye  powers  wha  mak  mankind  your  care 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld  Scotland  wants  nae  skinking  ware 

That  jaups  in  luggies; 
But  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  pray'r, 

Gie  her  a  haggisV 

But  of  the  constituent  parts  of  a  haggis,  ask  me  not.  I 
only  know  that  it  is  of  meat,  oatmeal,  suet  and  a  thousand 
other  things,  and  is  boiled  in  a  sheep's  stomach.  A  zealous 
Scot  told  me  that  the  dish  is  mentioned  (not  by  name  but 
by  implication)  in  the  scriptures,  in  the  Book  of  Kings. 
That  night  I  dreamt  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls,  with  haggises 
by  my  side,  for  the  mess  is  as  indigestible  as  it  is  seductive. 
But  the  succeeding  trip  through  the  Trossachs  to  Edin- 
burg  is  likely  to  chase  away  every  trace  of  indigestion,  for 
the  air  is  as  invigorating  as  a  tonic,  and  even  the  •showers  have 
a  softness  and  beauty  that  prevents  a  "Scotch  mist"  from 
becoming  doleful  or  depressing.     One  should  do  a  good  deal 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  287 

of  walking  on  this  part  of  the  tour  if  one  desires  to  enter 

heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  countryside  made  immortal  by 

Scott. 

Loch  Katrine,  Stronachlacher,  Loch  Lomond,  and  a  whole 

family  of  "  bens,"  greet  the  eye  in  never-ending  panorama. 

It  is  indeed — 

"  Yon  bonnie  banks  and  yon  bonnie  braes, 
Where  the  sun  shines  bright  on  Loch  Lomond, 
Where  me  and  my  true  love  were  ever  wont  to  gae 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  o'  Loch  Lomond." 

One  regrets  when  Callender  is  reached  and  the  train  is  to 
be  taken  for  Edinburgh,  but  to  the  traveler  who  desires  to 
study  man  rather  than  scenery,  antiquity  rather  than  beauti- 
ful views,  Edinburgh  will  make  ample  amends. 

Edinburgh  always  retains  its  charm  for  me .  Immediately 
on  arriving  there  I  strolled  over  to  the  old  town  and  went 
down  the  Canongate.  This  is  the  true  Edinburgh,  the  city 
with  which  all  readers  of  Scott's  works  are  familiar.  But 
the  city  is,  in  fact,  a  double  one,  the  two  parts  being  in 
most  striking  contrast.  In  the  old  town  one  is  transplanted 
into  the  middle  ages  at  once,  for  every  building  dates  back 
to  times  immemorial,  and  in  the  new  town  one  has  not  only 
a  most  elegant,  modern  city,  but  in  many  places,  (public 
buildings,  etc.,)  a  perfect  imitation  of  ancient  Athens.  The 
topography  of  the  city  was  excellently  suited  to  this  repro- 
duction, and  the  architects  have  used  their  opportunity  ad- 
mirably .  Walking  down  High  street ,  by  an  odd  coincidence , 
right  under  the  window  of  John  Knox's  house,  whence  he 
used  to  harangue  the  people  300  years  ago,  I  found  a  street 
preacher  holding  forth  on  the  cheerful  doctrine  of  eternal 
damnation .  ' '  You  are  all  condemned , "  he  shouted ,  " you 
are  all  lost,"  and  he  was  not  so  far  out,  for  when  I  left 
him,  I  had  considerable  difficult}^  in  finding  my  way  back 
to  the  Royal  Hotel.  I  was  well  fleeced  by  the  tradesmen 
that  I  met  in  Edinburgh. 

"  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled" 


288  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

now  do  the  bleeding  themselves,  and  the  innocent  tourist  is 
the  victim. 

After  Edinburgh,  a  short  run  by  rail  took  me  to  Melrose. 
The  abbey  here  is  the  most  magnificent  ruin  in  Great  Britain . 

"Ye  have  no  ruins  like  that  abbey  in  America,"  said  the 
guide .  I  thought  of  our  great  Henry  E .  and  his  first  3Tear  of 
operatic  management,  and  told  the  Scotchman  that  he  was 
mistaken.  This  same  guide  took  me  to  Abbotsford,  and 
when  I  quoted  some  passages  from  Scott  relative  to  the 
scenery,  he  was  ready  to  fall  upon  my  neck  and  weep.  He 
mastered  his  emotions  sufficiently  to  put  an  extra  shilling 
or  two  into  the  bill,  as  a  penalty  for  my  mangling  the  poet, 
perhaps. 

Sir  Walter  must  have  been  the  Barnum  of  his  period. 
He  had  no  white  elephant,  to  be  sure,  unless  Abbotsford 
itself  might  be  called  one,  but  he  had  the  "Greatest  Collec- 
tion of  Napoleonic  Relics"  and  a  "Gigantic  Aggregation 
of  Scotch  Antiquities."  He  charged  no  admission  to  see 
his  museum,  but  his  descendants  have  got  bravely  over 
that  failing.  But  really  the  collection  breathes  taste  and 
refinement,  and  the  beautiful  town  of  Melrose  breathes 
peace  and  tranquility. 

Of  Liverpool  there  is  nothing  to  tell,  save  that  it  is  the 
most  uncomfortable  city  in  the  world  for  the  traveler,  just 
before  "sailing  day."  There  were  some  3,000  Americans 
taking  their  departure  on  the  morrow,  and  the  hotels  were 
full  to  the  window  sills.  I  obtained  rooms  at  "The  Water- 
loo," however,  and  slept  oblivious  of  cares,  while  the  land- 
lady must  have  sat  up  all  night  making  out  my  bill,  judg- 
ing by  the  length  and  amount;  but  then  the  charges  at 
Waterloo  are  a  matter  of  history,  and  I  ought  to  have  ex- 
pected it.  The  account  gave  my  flattened  pocket  book  one 
last  affectionate  squeeze,  and  then  I  was  upon  the  vessel, 
Before  the  steamer  sets  sail  for  home,  however,  let  me  give 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  289 

a  few  final  European  remarks.  I  have  not  endeavored  in 
these  pages,  most  ferocious  reader,  to  speak  of  places  in 
England  which  must  be  familiar  to  you  if  you  are  not  ob- 
livious to  the  influence  of  all  the  poets;  thus  I  have  not 
spoken  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  nor  Kenilworth ,  nor  Chester, 
nor  of  the  beautiful  Lake  Country  in  England ;  yet  I  must 
not  give  the  impression  that  these  places  are  not  worthy  of 
your  attention ;  on  the  contrary,  a  walking  tour,  or,  best  of 
all,  a  bicycle  tour  through  England  will  give  you  the  greatest 
pleasure  that  you  have  ever  experienced  in  travel.  And  also 
at  the  close  of  our  European  travel  together,  oh,  fierce  and 
justly  aroused  one!  let  me  mollify  your  resentment  at  the 
familiar  tone  I  have  taken  throughout.  If  I  have  turned 
aside  too  frequently  to  speak  of  food,  of  drink,  of  barbers, 
of  billiards,  of  cabbies,  and  of  baths,  remember  that  I  have 
not  been  writing  history,  but  only  a  series  of  vacation 
tours,  and  that  in  traveling  all  the  worst  and  most  sel- 
fish qualities  of  the  human  animal  come  to  the  surface. 
If  you  are  a  rich  young  man,  and  are  contemplating 
marriage,  just  take  your  intended  and  her  mother  on  an 
extended  European  tour,  and  you  will  save  the  expense 
of  a  wedding-suit  (probably),  although  I  can't  guar- 
antee as  to  the  breach-of-promise  suit,  and  although  I 
have  here  spoken  of  a  trip  via  Liverpool,  let  me  assure  you 
that  the  voyage  to  Glasgow  gives  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful approaches  to  Europe;  therefore  try  and  make  at  least 
one  trip  that  way ;  and  now  let  us  shake  the  dust  of  Europe 
from  our  feet  and  hie  aboard. 

Of  course  the  voyage  began  with  the  usual  turmoil  and 
bustle  of  preparation,  in  the  midst  of  which  I  met  my  long- 
lost  organist  and  pianist,  who  had  been  wandering  'neath 
Italian  skies  since  my  Bayreuth  chapter  and  who  had  now 
returned  to  share  the  discomforts  and  perils  of  the  passage 
with  me. 


200  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

One  man's  joy,  alas,  is  always  another  s  sorrow.  As  we, 
light-hearted,  were  going  to  all  that  was  dear  to  us,  we  saw 
others  standing  upon  the  pier,  weeping.  Some  sturdy 
bread-winner  was  going  to  seek  fortune  in  a  far-off  land. 
The  home  over  there  was  to  seem  empty  and  sorrowful  for 
a  long,  long  time.  The  cold  rain  mingled  with  the  tears 
of  parting,  and  the  desolate  picture  touched  our  own  hopes 
with  melancholy. 

Now  followed  all  the  delights  and  discomforts  of  the  be- 
ginning of  an  ocean  voyage.  The  general  scramble  for 
baggage,  the  machinations  for  special  seats  at  table,  the 
donning  of  quaint,  old-fashioned  or  seedy  garments  which 
are  to  be  ''worn  out"  on  shipboard,  and  the  great  screw 
begins  its  revolutions,  and  off  we  are.  It  was  blowing  a 
summer  gale  as  we  left  Liverpool,  and  many  paid  tribute 
to  Neptune  before  we  reached  Queenstown .  At  this  place 
the  vessel  made  an  unusually  long  stop. 

There  was  ample  time  to  go  on  shore  and  take  a  run  up 
to  the  town,  but  alasl  no  boatman  seemed  hardy  enough  to 
tempt  the  waves.  At  last  a  large  sailboat  came  alongside. 
But  the  hardy  mariner  would  close  only  half  a  bargain  with 
me;  that  is,  he  agreed  to  take  me  ashore,  but  would  not 
promise  to  bring  me  back.  "There's  no  trusting  a  wind 
like  this,"  said  he.  I  am  a  Vanderdecken  as  regards  storms 
at  sea,  and  was  ready  to  contract  to  come  back  in  a  cyclone 
if  necessary,  but  the  "party  of  the  second  part"  (as  lawyers 
say)  would  not  take  any  return  contract,  sol  stood  on  deck 
gazing  at  the  shore,  like  the  Israelites  at  the  promised  land, 
knowing — which  the  Israelites  didn't — that  a  superb  whisky 
was  doled  out  by  a  certain  red-headed  maiden  there,  and 
that  blackthorn  shillalaghs  and  bog-oak  jewelry  were  pur- 
chasable for  a  mere  song.  Then  I  shook  my  fist  at  the  unat- 
tainable shore  "across  the  stormy  water,"  and  bowed  to  the 
inevitable.     The  emigrants  soon  came  up  in  a  tug,  and  had 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  291 

a  very  lively  time  in  getting  on  board.  As  one  poor  fel- 
low came  over  the  side,  the  boat  lurched  and  he  struck  his 
bundle  heavily  against  the  rail,  a  crash  followed,  and  a 
liquid  began  to  flow  down  over  his  shoulders,  a  balmy 
aroma  filled  the  air  around  him,  and  I  knew  then  that  he 
had  visited  the  red-headed  girl  above  mentioned .  Again 
the  vessel  forged  ahead,  and  soon  we  were  out  upon  a 
stormy  ocean.     The  vikings  in  the  "Frithjof  Saga"  sing 

"It  is  glorious  on  turbulent  sea," 

but  the  passengers  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  this  idea. 
Possibly  none  of  them  had  ever  been  in  the  viking  business. 
The  decks  were  soon  deserted  save  by  a  fond  but  sea-sick 
couple,  who  were  regurgitating  a  duet  in  C  minor.  I  sug- 
gested a  change  of  key,  but  they  told  me  to  go  to  the 
d — ominant.  The  ship  was  so  lightly  laden  that  she  rolled 
fearfully.  It  recalled  the  Bacchanalian  song,  "As  we  go 
rolling  home."  In  a  very  short  time  the  passengers,  with 
few  exceptions,  were  ready  to  shoot  the  man  who  wrote 
"A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave,"  if  they  could  have  found 
him. 

How  marked  is  the  approach  of  the  illness  of  the  sea! 
The  patient  suddenly  ceases  conversation,  and  becomes 
deeply  meditative.  The  nose  grows  pale;  the  face  assumes 
a  greenish  tint;  the  patient  makes  a  faint  attempt  to  rise; 
and  then — ,  let  us  draw  the  curtain.  Some  of  the  invalids 
bravely  endeavored  to  keep  up  their  regular  attendance  at 
meals,  but  this  was  attended  with  inconveniences.  I  saw 
one  gentleman  totter  to  the  breakfast  table,  and  sit  sadly 
waiting  for  the  waiter,  who  came  not.  Finally  he  wildly 
wailed  forth,  "Steward,  a  plate  of  fish,  quick!!"  But  it  was 
too  late,  and  as  the  waiter  rushed  for  the  fish  the  guest 
rushed  for  the  door. 

Higher  and  higher  grew  the  wind  and  waves.     To  sit  at 


292  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

the  leeward  side  of  the  table  was  not  unattended  with 
trouble.  Occasionally  the  pickle  jar  would  become  affec- 
tionately intimate,  and  unexpectedly  sit  in  one's  lap.  The 
butter  would  frequently  come  unasked,  and  there  was  a 
lively  race  between  three  stewards  and  a  soup  tureen,  in 
which  the  latter  won  by  going  the  entire  length  of  the 
saloon  before  it  was  captured .  Finally  the  weather  culmi- 
nated in  a  gale  which  made  things  very  lively  for  two  days. 
Some  of  the  timorous  ones  thought  that  the  end  was  nigh, 
and  even  the  calmer  ones,  in  the  height  of  the  storm,  ex- 
pected each  moment  would  be  their — next. 

The  chief  trouble  was  the  screw.  When  that  rose  out 
of  water  it  shook  the  ship  from  stem  to  stern,  and  caused  a 
wail  of  anguish  to  ascend.  I  sought  out  the  chief  steward, 
and  besought  him  to  explain  how,  under  such  circumstances, 
the  quantity  of  food  to  be  cooked  could  be  regulated. 
"How  can  you  tell,  for  example,  what  these  people  will  eat 
to-morrow,  or  whether  they  will  eat  at  all?"  "Very  easy 
thing,"  quoth  he.  "You  know  we  started  out  in  a  storm. 
Everybody  tries  to  come  to  the  first  dinner,  but  not  one  in 
five  could  stay  the  meal  through;  so  I  went  it  heavy  on 
soup  and  light  on  pudding.  To-morrow  it  will  be  light  all 
round."  And  so  it  was;  all  the  next  day  only  seven  pas- 
sengers were  visible  at  meals.     It  was  a  case  of 

"  None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fare." 

and  for  those  two  days  the  vessel  behaved  like  a  good 
singer,  that  is,  she  never  lost  her  pitch. 

As  our  stateroom  was  near  the  bow  of  the  boat  we  had 
the  full  benefit  of  this  in  a  constant  succession  of  rises  and 
falls  of  about  fifty  feet.  At  night  this  became  rather  no- 
ticeable to  my  companions,  who,  having  seen  Vesuvius, 
gave  me  practical  examples  of  its  workings.  For  myself  I 
did  not  mind  the  rise,  but  when  the  vessel  fell  my  berth 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  293 

seemed  to  Keep  about  two  inches  ahead  of  my  person  in  the 
downward  race,  and  my  stomach  seemed  to  remain,  like 
Mahomet's  coffin,  in  space.  But  I  was  not  seasick — I  re- 
mained with  the  veteran  band  of  seven  who  took  their 
meals  with  triumphant  regularity.  One  or  two  of  even 
these  made  a  hurried  skip  from  the  soup  to  the  coffee  during 
a  specially  boisterous  dinner. 

Seasickness  certainly  brings  out  all  that  there  is  in  a  man . 
One  of  my  companions,  who  is  the  sweetest-mannered  gen- 
tleman imaginable  on  shore,  under  the  influence  of  the 
malady,  brought  forth  orations  that  were  both  terse  and 
curse. 

Poets  have  pictured  every  human  sorrow  in  verse,  and 
under  the  stirring  influences  of  the  scene  I  sought  for  im- 
mortality by  singing  of  a  woe  that  the  muse  has  too  long 
neglected . 

ODE  TO   SEASICKNESS. 

Let  poets  inspiration  borrow 

From  hearts  bowed  down  by  weight  of  grief; 
I  sing  a  deeper,  truer  sorrow, 

And  one  without  relief. 

"Where  food  and  comfort  are  rejected, 
Where  life  is  filled  with  black  despair; 

Limp,  hopeless,  woe-begone,  dejected; 
That  is  the  mal  de  mer! 

Hark  to  yon  note  of  sad  bereaval, 

In  dismal,  baleful  monotones ; 
Upheaval  follows  on  upheaval, 

Each  intermixed  with  groans. 

The  victim  with  a  manner  frantic 

Doth  hasten  to  the  vessel's  side, 
Sends  articles  to  the  "Atlantic," 

Yet  feels  no  thrill  of  pride. 


294  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

He  thinks  on  Scriptural  epistles, 

And  full  of  anguish  is  his  cup, 
As  loud  the  gale  around  him  whistles 

The  text  "Cast  ye  then  up!" 

One  wish  within  his  heart  is  burning, 
Others  of  many  things  have  dearth, 

He  only  has  a  single  yearning, 
He  only  wants — the  earth! 

There  was  a  more  serious  side  to  the  storm ,  however ,  for 
one  afternoon  a  heavy  wave  swept  the  forward  deck  and 
flung  half  a  dozen  sailors  in  a  bleeding  heap  among  the 
iron  stanchions.  The  next  day  one  of  the  poor  fellows  was 
delirious  and  in  a  very  dangerous  condition. 

It  was  a  trial  even  to  those  who  were  not  injured  to  be 
shaken  about  in  such  an  unseemly  manner.  I  went  into  my 
berth,  for  example,  in  full  confidence  that  I  was  lying  near 
the  side  of  my  stateroom,  but  on  awakening  an  hour  later 
I  found  that  I  was  trying  to  sleep  on  the  ceiling.  Before 
I  could  quite  recover  from  my  surprise,  I  found  that  it  was 
an  optical  illusion;  I  was  lying  upon  the  floor.  That  night 
Boreas  murdered  sleep.  If  by  any  chance  I  dozed  off  for 
a  moment,  I  dreamt  that  I  was  alternately  ascending  the 
Alps  and  falling  down  the  crevasses.  Meanwhile  the  ship 
was  gaily  pirouetting,  and  on  Monday  the  tables,  erst  so 
crowded,  were  still  vacant.     Sick  transit  Gloria  Monday. 

"Music  hath  charms,"  but  I  never  expected  it  to  charm 
a  person  into  playing  piano  at  an  angle  of  fort}T-five  degrees. 
Yet  a  young  pianist,  with  an  undying  affection  for  Schar- 
wenka's  "Polish  Dance"  and  Mendelssohn's  "Wedding 
March,"  alternated  these  pieces,  even  in  defiance  of  the 
elements.  At  last,  one  day,  a  friendly  lurch,  of  more  than 
usual  vehemence  sent  him  from  the  piano  wildly  clawing 
into  space. 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  295 

One  day  it  was  whispered  that  a  death  had  occurred  on 
board.  It  was  a  mysterious  affair  altogether.  At  first  the 
officers  would  say  nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  finally  it  came 
out  that  a  fireman  or  "  trimmer  "  had  succumbed  to  the 
heat  of  the  furnaces  and  died  out  of  hand.  Then  there 
came  other  details,  told  me  by  some  of  the  deck  hands,  that 
deceased  had  been  a  "stowaway"  on  the  ship,  and  upon  be- 
ing discovered  (possibly  weak  enough, and  wretched),  had 
been  put  to  work  in  the  fire-room,  the  hardest  labor  that 
the  mind  can  imagine.     This  was  his  sentence  to  death. 

Can  you  imagine  what  the  fire-room  is  in  a  large  steamer 
burning  300  tons  of  coal  daily?  It  is  worse  than  Dante's 
Inferno.  "Leave  hope  behind  all  ye  who  enter  here,"  might 
well  be  written  over  the  portals  for  all  those  who  have  not 
gradually  accustomed  themselves  to  labor  in  its  stifling  at- 
mosphere. I  know  of  the  case  of  a  poor  German  school- 
master, homesick  in  America,  desperate  to  reach  his  father- 
land ,  taking  the  position  of  trimmer  on  an  outward  bound 
steamer,  and  after  two  days  of  unspeakable  torture,  running 
to  the  deck,  taking  a  breath  or  two  of  heaven's  pure  air, 
and  then  leaping  over  the  rail  into  the  ocean .  When  will 
some  new  Plimsoll  arise  and  force  legislation  regarding  the 
temperature  and  ventilation  of  these  fire-rooms?  The  mat- 
ter can  be  easily  remedied,  at  slight  expense,  but  then,  of 
course,  it  is  cheaper  still  to  bury  a  fireman  occasionally  at 
sea. 

Was  Charles  Johnston  a  stowaway?  I  cannot  say  with 
certainty,  for  against  the  statements  given  above,  are  those 
of  the  purser  and  doctor,  who  asserted  that  he  was  a  regular 
member  of  the  crew.  At  any  rate  there  was  noticeable  re- 
ticence on  the  part  of  many  whenever  the  subject  was 
broached.  But  the  next  day  there  was  a  large  wooden  box, 
covered  with  the  British  flag,  standing  on  the  grating  at 
the  side  rail,  and  the  purser  stood  at  one  end  of  it  and  a  few 


296  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

of  the  officers  beside  him.  We  were  to  have  a  burial  at  sea. 
The  Church  of  England  funeral  service  was  read  by  the 
purser  and  its  allusions  to  "our  brother"  seemed  rather  sar- 
donic to  me.  At  the  words  "we  commit  this  body  to  the 
deep,"  the  sailors  pulled  at  a  tackle,  the  grating  with  its 
heavily  leaded  burden  was  lowered  to  the  water  level  (the 
ship  going  nearly  twenty  miles  an  hour) ,  the  waves  almost 
iustantly  swept  it  off;  it  floated  a  few  yards,  then  turned  on 
end  and  went  down,  and  the  mystery  was  on  the  bottom  of 
the  Atlantic  until  the  day  of  judgment,  while  our  world  on 
board  ship  went  on,  just  as  the  waves  went  on  above  it.  I 
am  not  going  to  moralize,  even  upon  such  a  solemn  event; 
the  poor  have  few  rights  which  anybody  is  bound  to  respect, 
and  the  respect  in  this  case  ended  with  the  funeral,  for  im- 
mediately afterward  it  seemed  all  forgotten  in  the  excitement 
attending  the  declaration  of  the  daily  run,  on  which  some 
£20  or  £30  depended. 

At  last  came  peace.  The  gale  passed  away,  calmness 
settled  upon  the  waters,  and  new  faces  began  to  appear  on 
deck  and  at  table.  Some  of  the  young  ladies,  in  their  pal- 
lid, semi-invalid  condition,  looking  as  beautiful  as  divini- 
ties, were  soon  surrounded  by  sympathetic  young  men, 
possibly  divinity-students.  And'this  reminds  me  that  we 
had  nine  divines  on  board.  It  was  embarrassing  how  to 
arrange  the  service,  for  one  could  not  ask  the  reverends  to 
toss  up  as  to  who  should  lead  the  services;  but  this  was 
neatly  overcome  by  giving  each  a  short  portion  of  the  work. 

I  determined  on  this  trip  to  study  steerage  life  thoroughly , 
and  therefore  asked  Dr.  Love — the  surgeon  has  closer  rela- 
tions with  these  passengers  than  any  other  high  officer — to 
help  me  in  my  scheme.  He  kindly  cross-examined  me  as  to 
my  medical  knowledge,  and  finding  that  I  knew  enough  to 
hold  the  quills  during  the  operation  of  vaccination,  ap- 
pointed me,  with  the  consent  of  the  captain,  medical  assist- 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  297 

ant.  The  United  States  laws  on  vaccination  are  very  strict. 
Every  emigrant  must  be  examined  before  entering  a  United 
States  port  and  receive  a  certificate  of  vaccination,  or, 
if  there  are  no  vaccination  marks ,  he  must  be  vaccinated  by 
the  ship's  doctor.  Cabin  passengers  are  not  subjected  to 
this  search,  because  the  small-pox  caught  from  a  cabin  pas- 
senger would  be  of  a  more  enjoyable  order  than  that  caught 
from  an  emigrant. 

The  doctor  and  I,  therefore,  went  hunting  for  marks. 
The  steerage  passengers  were  marshaled  in  long  rows  and 
defiled  before  us.  Each  showed  the  vaccination  marks  in 
turn,  but  they  were  not  all  in  one  place.  Some  were  vac- 
cinated on  the  arm,  some  on  the  shoulder,  some  on  the  leg, 
and  two,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  on  the  forehead!  It  was 
a  strange  levee  that  we  held  —  Irish,  Scotch,  English, 
Americans,  Belgians,  Danes,  Swedes,  Norwegians,  Russians, 
Italians,  Germans,  Austrians,  Greeks,  etc.,  made  up  the 
motley  procession.  I  found  out  that  of  all  countries  Russia 
is  the  most  careless  as  to  vaccination ;  also  that  the  Irish 
generally  have  two  small  vaccination  marks,  while  the  Scotch 
have  one  broad  one.  It  was  a  task  of  some  difficulty  to 
deal  justly  with  each  case,  and  Dr.  Love's  conscientious  in- 
spection took  nearly  two  days.  Occasionally  the  wily  emi- 
grant would  try  to  pass  a  burn  or  an  old  scar  as  the  result 
of  vaccination;  but  this  was  always  useless,  and  the  subject 
was  vaccinated .  The  hardest  task  of  all  was  searching  out 
those  who  were  too  sick  to  come  in  line.  These  generally 
lay  in  unapproachable  positions,  and  had  reached  that  stage 
when  laws  on  vaccination  or  any  other  subject  were  unin- 
teresting to  them.  But  I  must  say  that  the  emigrants  were 
really  treated  in  a  proper  and  careful  manner.  Once  or 
twice  a  day  the  doctor  and  his  assistant  (myself)  would  start 
out  to  taste  the  food,  which  was  to  be  served  out  for  meals. 
We  invariably  found  it  pure  and  well  cooked.     The  very 


298  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

seasick  ones  received  special  food  and  often  a  daily  glass  of 
porter  or  Seidlitz  powder  gratis.  It  was  amusing  to  see  the 
tricks  resorted  to  in  order  to  obtain  some  of  these  agreeable 
remedies.  I  fear  that  the  doctor's  assistant  closed  his  eyes 
to  more  than  one  imposture  of  this  kind.  The  arrangements 
for  lodging  the  emigrants  were  excellent.  The  unmarried 
men  had  one  steerage  forward;  fifty  feet  away,  with  no  di- 
rect communication,  was  that  for  married  couples;  far  back 
of  this  again  was  that  for  young  women.  Care  was  taken 
to  keep  the  different  nationalities  together  during  the  trip, 
so  that  they  could  help  each  other  and  not  feel  lonely.  An 
interpreter  was  on  board  who  spoke  all  their  languages  also. 
The  officers  told  me  that  there  was  no  money  in  carrying 
steerage  passengers  now.  In  former  times,  when  each  paid 
six  guineas  at  least,  the  service  yielded  a  profit,  but  I  heard 
horrible  tales  of  the  treatment  in  vogue  at  that  time — of 
wretches  battened  down  under  hatches  and  fed  like  beasts, 
by  throwing  food  among  them  and  allowing  them  to 
scramble  for  it. 

What  does  one  do  on  such  a  voyage  to  pass  the  time? 
Everything  that  ennui  and  ingenuity  combined  can  suggest. 
The  appearance  of  a  sail  is  a  signal  for  at  least  a  half-hour's 
comment.  Charades  and  music  alternate,  and  no  voyage 
is  considered  quite  complete  without  a  breach-of- promise 
trial.  Pools  on  the  daily  run  of  the  ship  are  sold,  and  this 
kind  of  gambling  attracts  many  of  the  vicious  ones  who 
began  in  life  by  playing  marbles  "for  keeps,"  and  have 
ascended  the  ladder  of  crime  until  they  even  arrived  at  the 
infamy  of  staking  a  shilling  on  the  number  of  the  pilot 
boat  that  would  come  to  meet  us.  I  am  glad  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  these  reprobates  shared  their  winnings  fairly  with 
the  Sailors'  Orphan '3  Home,  whose  contribution  box  was 
kept  well  filled  by  these  heterodox  proceedings. 

But  saints  and  sinners  alike  seem  to  unite  in  charitable 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  299 

deeds  at  sea ;  Neptune  seems  to  be  a  superb  purse  opener. 
If  only  one  could  hold  church  fairs  at  sea, — after  the  invalids 
have  recovered,  they  would  be  very  remunerative. 

Do  I  need  to  say  much  regarding  the  concert  given  on  the 
last  night  of  the  voyage?  I  think  not.  Every  steamer  has  a 
charitable  concert  on  every  voj-age  in  summer.  Our  pro- 
gramme is  a  decidedly  mixed  one.  Managing  a  concert  is 
a  work  which  is  always  a  penitential  task  fit  for  the  training 
of  saints,  but  when  this  is  combined  with  the  making  up  ot 
a  programme  for  charitable  purposes,  on  shipboard,  it  be- 
comes a  labor  which  only  angels  should  undertake.  On 
every  European  steamer  in  summer  time  there  are  concerts 
given  for  the  benefit  of  the  seamen's  orphans  in  Liverpool . 
Judging  by  the  regularity  and  number  of  these  concerts, 
and  the  pecuniary  results  obtained,  the  Liverpool  or- 
phans must  be  incipient  Goulds  and  Vanderbilts.  Each  of 
these  concerts,  however,  leaves  the  manager  a  shattered 
wreck ,  with  his  ideas  of  music  in  a  hopeless  state  of  con- 
fusion. At  the  first  everything  is  couleur  de  rose;  life  is 
bright  and  volunteers  plenty.  Alas,  he  does  not  know  that 
the  anxious  volunteers  have  90  per  cent,  of  assurance  to 
10  per  cent,  of  ability,  and  that  the  real  artists,  if  there  are 
any  on  board,  are  hiding  their  lights  under  three  or  four 
bushels,  and  keep  in  the  background.  The  programme  is 
made,  and  the  concert  begins;  so  do  the  managerial  woes! 
The  piano,  from  long  association  with  the  sea,  has  atone  of 
sepulchral  solemnity,  when  you  can  get  at  it,  for  often 
when  the  keys  are  forced  down  they  stay  there,  so  that  it 
really  takes  two  artists  to  play  a  solo,  one  to  put  down 
the  keys  and  the  other  to  wedge  them  up.  The  organ, 
however,  makes  up  for  this  deficiency  by  giving  a  great 
many  more  notes  than  are  wanted;  it  gives  an  unexpected 
accompaniment  of  half  a  dozen   notes  which   sound  all 


300  EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES. 

through  the  performance  without  touching  the  keys, — a 
very  startling  kind  of  pedal  point.  A  couple  of  amateurs 
begin  with  a  piano  duet  marked  "selected."  It  proves  to 
be  a  French  quadrille  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  "repeats," 
each  one  of  which  is  conscientiously  made  by  the  faithful 
performers.  The  audience  feel  old  age  coming  on,  and  the 
manager's  hair  turns  gray  during  the  performance  of  this 
work,  which  ought  never  to  be  undertaken  by  any  one  but 
Methuselah.  Finally  it  is  done,  and  the  next  piece  makes 
some  amends  by  being  fairly  artistic.  Where  is  the  lady 
who  is  to  sing  number  three?  An  anxious  search  reveals 
her  on  deck;  she  has  become  seasick  by  waiting  her  turn  in 
the  close  and  tossing  cabin,  and  is  bringing  up  everything 
except  notes .  How  can  one  ask  a  person  to  toss  off  a  bal- 
lad when  she  is  diligently  engaged  in  tossing  off  a  salad 
instead . 

Now  a  young  miss  sits  at  the  piano  and  prepares  for  an 
encounter  with  " Gottschalk 's  Last  Hope,"  which  becomes 
a  forlorn  hope  instead.  The  next  is  an  infant  prodigy 
about  three  years  old,  pushed  into  the  manager's  scheme  by 
sheer  force,  and  a  pair  of  doting  parents.  The  child  has 
decided  not  to  warble  that  evening,  however — for  which 
the  manager  is  devoutly  grateful' — and  ten  minutes  of  fruit- 
less, parental  coaxing  fill  the  time  instead.  Now  comes 
another  song — "selected" — which  proves  to  be  a  cheap 
Music-Hail  style  of  affair  with  a  dance  attached,  and  which 
makes  every  one  ashamed  of  having  participated  in  the  pro- 
gramme. Such  was  a  specimen  concert  on  our  ship,  and 
such  is  often  the  style  of  music  on  the  briny  deep .  The  audi- 
ence pay  out  their  money  nobly  (they  would  have  done  so 
without  any  musical  inflictions  whatever) ,  and  the  cause  of 
charity  is  helped  along — even  if  the  cause  of  art  is  not.  To 
those  who  feel  tempted  to  begin  a  managerial  career  on  ship- 
board, I  can  only  give  Punch's  celebrated  advice  to  these 
about  to  marry — "don't!" 


EUROPEAN  REMINISCENCES.  301 

At  last  the  pilot  boat  arrived.  It  found  us  some  five- 
hundred  miles  from  New  York.  There  seems  to  be  as  sharp 
a  competition  among  pilots  as  among  cabmen,  for  they  go 
a  long  way  after  their  customers,  and  often  have  an  excit- 
ing race  for  a  steamboat.  With  the  arrival  of  the  pilot  our 
voyage  seemed  to  come  to  an  end.  There  was  of  course,  a 
scramble  after  fresh  news,  and  newspapers  three  days  old 
were  devoured  with  avidity. 

And  now  we  began  to  approach  the  Long  Island  shore 
and  to  brace  ourselves  for  our  encounter  with  the  customs 
officials. 

Light  after  light  appeared  (it  was  early  evening) ,  and  at 
midnight  the  great  screw,  which  had  been  revolving  and 
pulsating  for  seven  days  without  intermission,  stopped,  and 
we  were  in  New  York  harbor .  And ,  after  all ,  home  was  the 
pleasantest  sight  of  all  the  long,  long  tour.  The  musician's 
vacation  was  ended,  and  I  now  prepared  for  the  final  chords 
of  my  short,  allegro  movement.  These  came  in  the  shape 
of  a  health  officer,  who  seemed  satisfied  with  the  fact  that  I 
was  not  ailing, and  custom-house  officials,  who  soon  became 
satisfied  that  I  was  not  a  wild  smuggler  of  the  type  found 
in  the  third  act  of  "  Carmen."  A  grateful  smell  of  garb- 
age and  a  more  persistent  solicitation  on  the  part  of  the 
hackmen  told  me  that  I  had  indeed  arrived  in  the  "possible 
metropolis  of  the  world."  The  conductor  gives  the  signal 
for  the  final  cadence,  the  instruments  slow  up,  the  allegro 
is  finished.  "With  a  strange,  indescribable  pleasure,  but  not 
without  a  sigh  that  the  vacation  was  over,  I  stepped  across 
the  gang-plank — 

"And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree. 
I  stood  on  the  firm  land." 

[the  end.] 


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